


Only Ashes Remain

by airotsa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, two idiots too stubborn for their own good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 122,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airotsa/pseuds/airotsa
Summary: On Sodden Hill everything changes and anything they ever were is consumed by the flames, only ashes remain.Recovery will be long and painful; they must relearn many things, how to be human, amongst them.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 299
Kudos: 415





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: I watched a fanvid and was hooked in ten seconds.
> 
> Chaos ensued, along with a multi chaptered fanfic of two stubborn and proud women.
> 
> There will eventually be smut.

_ONLY ASHES REMAIN._

_I._

Her hand against her wound, she was looking for the only person in this blasted world that could help her put an end to this misery, Tissaia De Vries, amongst the five most powerful mages alive and in all honesty, to have ever lived. The only reliable answer left on the Continent.

She called for her with telepathy, exerting all her remaining control into transmitting out how very desperate she was, how much she needed her. The truth was ugly, but it was the only thing left.

From twenty-two mages, less than ten remained. Friends and sisters that she had acknowledged only too late, so convinced that an empty heart was the only means of absolution she would ever find. That power was best not shared, only kept pure in one pair of hands, unlike in the Brotherhood, where everyone that had ever been worth a grain of salt had a voice that was too loud, an idiocy too far-reaching.

The dead stared at her with empty eyes and the surviving few reflected in their own the turmoil that brewed in her violet ones. Mutilated corpses, discarded weapons, this was what was left of them. 

Yennefer wondered how the books would portray it, a valiant effort, a noble cause? Only if they won. A stupid waste? Men too greedy and arrogant for common sense? She would say that if she survived and they wanted her account.

At the gate was Triss, kind and wise Triss with her throat burnt to a crisp, clutching her hand to her wound to stop the bleeding, holding it close to her skin for dear life, covered in dirt and blood, like them all. Her mind intact while her body twitched against her will, _“Find Tissaia.”_ The brunette pleaded and were she not dying she would have rolled her eyes, who for fuck’s sake was she supposed to find if not the Rectoress?

The sorceress saw the destruction around her and her bottle threatened to break.

What would have happened, if she had gone to Nilfgaard instead of Fringilla? Not this, most decidedly.

When the portal had opened in the middle of the courtyard, she had felt something, an echo of a person she thought she once knew. Chaos, magic, it fuelled from their emotions and hers reeked of resentment and anger, of newfound cruelty, of a deep betrayal, of abandonment.

Still, she had been offered a place at her side and it was most easy to know why. Too many lifetimes she had lived, all nourished by scorching fury, so toxic that in her worst moments she saw nothing but red, even so, it was the only thing that kept her alive and sane. A tether to this cruel reality, something to hold on to when everything else failed in keeping her grounded.

They were the same in that, at least.

King Virfuril was an idiot, that much was clear by the third week she had spent at court. Fringilla would have been happy there, with the monotony and the expected answers and the lavish gifts, the tedious balls and the overall appreciation for art. She would have flourished while she withered, but Yennefer was like a flame, she had always craved more, consuming and destroying too much in her way.

The mage grew comfortable and reckless, she miscalculated, three daughters were all it took for her to lose decades’ worth of carefully crafted control. The sorceress had considered coaxing a boy out of the Queen’s loins, but a desperate Monarch was one that gave her all she asked, why waste her coin when his coffers were so vast?

Until he snapped, of course.

That attack had been as meant for her as that stupid woman.

They had hurt at first, those words highlighting her ineptitude, they had cut deep, as deep as when they had come out of an older woman’s lips, so many years ago. The wounds so raw sometimes after her lessons she screamed before supper, like the broken and bent thing the Rectoress had bought for four marks.

Eventually, it was too much, the resentment, the powerlessness and so the reason she would never come back to the school that had been her one true home.

Yennefer had not saved the Queen just for that, however petty it was, instead lunging for the baby, when her power and strength were enough to save both their royal heads.

‐

_“Sometimes the best thing a flower can do for us is die.”_

‐

Tissaia had a knack for being right, the bitch.

And then she was back, dressed in a silken dress of green in her chambers of that dingy town, the same style as all the others she had seen her in throughout the years. 

Her heart had pounded so hard in her breast it resonated in her ears, making her question if maybe, just maybe, the herbs she had ingested that morning that been a tad too strong, that she’d grown careless, as she was wont to do when left alone and bored.

In such an enclosed space Yennefer examined the cause of her discomfort for the first time since her ascension; her gaze was as strong and proud as her posture. The Arch-mistress remained unchanged to the naked eye.

It infuriated her, that this bloody woman could come into any castle or house or dump and make it seem her own, bend any person to her will whilst making them think it was an honour to serve her.

Back in her days as a student, it had been a goal of hers, to command what she did with so much as a glance and as with many things in her life, she had failed herself.

‐

_“Return to Aretuza.”_

_“Aretuza may be everything to you, but I’d rather forget it.”_

‐

It had always been important to her, that place that represented so much of what she ached for.

Going back was not only returning to the school but to her close proximity and she’d rather learn to live with that ache that threatened to kill her. That hole that didn’t use to hurt, that was not as wide, as tiny as the prick of a needle, now a black hole.

Yennefer wanted to forget everything it had ever meant, everything it still did.

To forget, what a beautiful thing it was.

She’d forget that she had saved her, from everything, from herself, from her father, from chaos.

She’d forget her own compliance, tossing her best friend into a pool as an eel, desperate for approval, which she got as a small smile.

She’d forget how indignant Tissaia was when she accused her of telling them of her Elven blood, how her voice turned for the first time ever into a slightly shaking thing, how her eyes screamed at her the words she would never say; that she had moved heaven and earth to try to keep her place in Aedrin’s court but failed.

She’d forget the knot in her throat when she pressed her nails so hard against her palms, she drew blood, leaning against the closed office door, smoke still gracing her nostrils from the pipe she smoked.

Betrayed by her lover and shocked, hurt, that the only woman she knew could command the oceans had failed her so significantly and, at that moment, she was back in the pigpen, back to being weak, drops of salty water leaving her eyes.

‐

_“There is nothing more pathetic than a sorceress in tears.”_

‐

The utter and despicable hopelessness lingered in her skin, more venomous with every passing second. She wanted to break Tissaia to see if something inside was still made of human flesh, so Yennefer said cruel words to that purpose, that she otherwise would have not. Respect was one thing she allowed herself to feel for her without shame, even if she didn’t show it, all darkness and rightful anger as always.

Blue eyes stared back at her own that day, an icy blue. She may have mastered many things in her centuries of life, but her eyes were the one thing that would always betray her and she counted on that.

With every taunt and insult that left her lips, Tissaia held her breath for longer, trying to close the space that separated them with tiny steps, the quiver of her lower lip that she stopped a second too late, her hands against her womb, bracing herself.

When she did that, she stopped her mouth, because the harm had been too large for a woman that proud and stubborn to have to hold herself upright.

‐

_“How did we get this way? I gave you all I could give. What more do you want?”_

_“Everything.”_

‐

She didn’t know when either; perhaps the day of her ascension when she had finally felt powerful enough to do as she liked. Perhaps in the years after, when her boredom was too much and she wished to leave the golden palace, her jewelled cage, to see the world. Perhaps when she finally had, when it proved as disappointing as everything she tried. 

Then the realization that what she had longed for all along was a home, not power, had crept around her lungs like thorn-covered vines because she knew that that word had a clear synonym in her heart.

A scarred child that wanted everything she was never allowed to have; the happy memories, the smiles, the safety and the warmth.

Love.

‐

_“So, are you ready? To die?”_

_“Yes. I’ve lived two or three lifetimes already.”_

_“But you haven’t been satisfied in any of them.”_

_“I’ve tried, but I’ve no legacy to leave behind. No family. It’s time to accept life has no more to give.”_

_“You still have so much left to give.”_

‐

There had been no judgment in their words, their ale unsavoury and cold in their mugs as they stared at the scene in front of them. Silence filling the void of the things they couldn’t say even before facing death.

People moving around, preparing for a fight that was doomed from the start and the two observant women that just wanted everything to stop if only for a minute, to stop the chaos and the fighting and the hurting.

Death was that, finally, peace. It would stop the thoughts and everything else. 

A sacrifice she was willing to make. A worthy one.

Many things Tissaia had told her throughout her life had haunted her.

‐

_“Please.”_

‐

Only one was repeated on and on in her mind as Yennefer looked and looked, dizzy from blood loss, tired from battle and grieving for what they had lost so swiftly, she could very well convince herself it was only a nightmare if she so desired.

When she found her, the sky had darkened and the stars twinkled gently from above. It had taken her hours, then.

She was standing, not that she expected any different. The brunette was dishevelled in a way she would have never allowed in normal circumstances, blood spatters covering her dress and her chignon messy like a nest.

The raven-haired woman approached her and the moment their hands touched, ravaged skin knit closed. She could breathe again.

‐

_“There is a give and a take.”_

‐

Tissaia’s knees collapsed, unable to carry her, having added another wound to her own, her body already frail enough before that.

The mage stared at her; gratitude, anger and care blooming in her chest, a horrid cocktail and she looked at her in the eye, shaken in a way she had never before been in her entire life.

This was not right.

Yennefer wanted to scream and shake her, she did not deserve this mercy and she had done it once again, for an ungrateful and bratty girl whose defences and walls had been blown up by a single incantation.

Everything she ever was broke when she searched her face for answers. Tissaia De Vries was never supposed to give up. If she did, she would reopen the scars on her wrists, cut deeper than before. Such was her pain.

“The Northern Kingdoms are close! We can’t give up!” The girl begged, her hand at her shoulder.

“You… You saved me.” There was an edge to her tone, Yennefer of Vengerberg had never felt so much at once. “I won’t ever forget that.” How could she? When she had spent her whole life trying to, never successful.

“It’s your turn, to save these people, this Continent. This is your legacy.” The Rectoress muttered with conviction.

“How? I can’t!” She protested.

“You can!” Tissaia hissed, inhaling sharply.

“Everything you have ever felt, everything you’ve buried.” Her hand went to her cheek, caressing the skin with gloved fingers, blue eyes shining, _“Forget the bottle. Let your chaos explode.”_ Their foreheads touched, giving her the bravery, she needed to do so.

And she did, every single memory and disappointment and regret and truth that had ever hurt her. Every word, every action and inaction. Every single thing that had robbed her of sleep. Every scar that would be plastered in her back were the world a fairer place.

The childhood she was robbed of. The blood she had on her hands and could never wash. The child she would never conceive. The witcher that might have been the one, were their feelings more than a ruse. The adopted family that died for a senseless war. Her inability to protect them.

Her broken and lonely heart.

But most important of all, the woman that had saved her so many times, in so many ways and the many meanings and feelings that was her being, her name.

Every single thing and then some.

Yennefer screamed and cried.

‐

_“There are some mages like Sabrina who ignore their emotions and then there are mages like us, who are consumed by them.”_

‐

Until she burned down the world.

Queen of the ashes, her legacy written in screams and blood.

With the last of her momentum, she transported Tissaia, Sabrina, Triss, Coral and herself through individual portals to Aretuza. And then she knew no more.


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Thank you so much for the amazing response!
> 
> Oh and by the way, this is the last chapter that's formatted with the quotes, so don't get scared. It just seemed like a fitting start.

_II._

Fire started to surround her and everything she saw was the glow of the flames, a display of ultimate chaos she would have never in her lifetime thought she’d see. 

The Rectoress braced herself for an abnormally painful end, hands covering her head like it would help, her lungs working so fast she was already hyperventilating.

As the heat grew around her, she reminded herself of the necessity of the act, the importance of winning this battle and the many lives she’d save by willingly giving up her own. 

She closed her eyes, there were sights she didn’t want to see in her worst nightmares and this struck a nerve; how funny that she’d die the same way she had killed her family in her conduit moment. Destiny certainly had the worst sense of humour. 

Flashes of a life, long left behind danced in her mind’s eye and the screams around her distorted and blended with the ones in her thoughts, but she mustn’t lose control like that, so she bit the inside of her cheek until it bled, to draw the ghosts away.

Her stomach ached from the gash she had relieved the mage from, the wound already intoxicated from the dimetirium that covered her clothes, the blue powder seeping through to skin in her carelessness with her gloved hands, to finally reach her bloodstream.

At least this would be relatively quick, compared to what would have awaited her with that. She knew the consequences that ingesting the metal in any form brought and she had already inhaled it.

Fringilla had certainly done her research, poisoning her that way, she’d lose her magic, as well as her sanity, the metal was a parasite that grew and grew until it left but a shell.

Sorceresses were made to be vessels, they served chaos, fulfilling its inconsistent whims and it served them, prolonging their lifetime, giving them the use of magic. Without it they were nothing. To lose one’s capacity was akin to severing your soul, it was something they could not recover from without a tremendous sacrifice.

No one loved her like that, many people didn’t even like her, they just respected her. She was as good as dead, as good as insane.

The Arch-mistress waited for the fire to engulf her, for it to melt skin from bone.

Every single thought that ran through her mind was making the anticipation worse and bile rose to her throat. She didn’t want to die, the former mage realized, there was something she had never found, not knowing where to look, not knowing what it was.

The Rectoress waited some more, opening her eyes and rising; the feeling of awe that filled her chest was overwhelming, like everything else that she had felt that day. Tissaia had been spared by the same woman that seized every available opportunity to remind her how much she detested her.

 _"Stupid, lovely, wonderful girl."_ She thought.

The long road to death then, at least she’d be able to thank her, a small mercy.

Tissaia had known Yennefer to be special, from the moment she felt the disruption on the school’s wards to when she laid eyes on her twisted frame, her clothes covered in shit and reeking like the pigs that ran away from her.

Eyes wild, chaos coming off of her in potent waves, the energy that surrounded her was the same she had had as a child when she first came to Aretuza, so many centuries ago. A perfect reincarnation of her, down to the sassy insolence, the tentative defiance and the visible brokenness.

The man he bought her from, her father, well, he wouldn’t survive the curse that she put on the four marks, a nasty and unexplained illness that rotted the body from the inside out, awfully painful, limbs contorting to look like the ones of her daughter. He had ended up more a beast than what he had thought the girl to be, she reckoned.

The Arch-mistress wasn’t in the business of punishing the people she took her apprentices from, but the words in Elder had been spoken in her mind without consent when she announced their leaving, condescendingly handing him the money and she saw no use in sparing him the damage.

Four marks, what an arse, half the price of a suckling pig. She sincerely hoped he died screaming.

‐

_“The woman’s a witch. You know what they will do."_

‐

All but dragging the child to the cart afterwards, having to drug the feisty thing into compliance with a spell the third time she tried to escape. Her attempts each more pathetic than the last, really, born of the many impulses it was clear she had, yet so troublesome she had left her no choice.

Violet eyes looking at her through a mental fog before she had to toss her in the middle of the forest through a portal to the quarters she would inhabit. The magic lifted when their feet landed on the stone and she locked the door with a master key from her pocket, lest she roamed around in her frenzy and found one of the rooms that held objects of questionable purpose.

When she had opened the door again after checking on the other girls, she had to contain herself from doing anything rash, this was more of a mess than she had anticipated and that had already been high enough on its own. Yennefer had cut too deep, apparent from the blood that pooled in the floor, the only reason she deigned her worthy of saving. Gods, she wasn’t a bloody nanny.

Tissaia would deny she did it because it was a reenactment of her own first night here.

A long process ensued; she cleaned the room, dressed her wounds, kept vigil the whole night, getting no sleep, her mind lost in a book she couldn’t focus on and after talking to the Chief Healer of the school, she learned the damage to her hands was irreparable by any means they had. The Rectoress almost snapped. The tendons would not hold no matter what concoction was put on them. No option left to try in the realm of the morally acceptable ones.

So, she smoked her pipe the whole day, not being able to get anything done, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration more often than not. The fumes she inhaled useless in the job they usually did so well and then the Arch-mistress portalled herself from there to her room when the grandfather clock sounded twelve times, the sky nothing but black.

After warding the place and placing her necklace around the door handle, so she wouldn’t have to fuel it from her own reserves, the tutor procured a dagger from the holster at her hip.

Blood magic was frowned upon by the Chapter, highly punishable actually, not taught in Aretuza even when she was a student. The books of the forbidden knowledge locked away in a tower on the east wing, only two keys made, her pendant one of them.

Still, she was one of the five and none of her colleagues had achieved that level of greatness without delving even lightly into the dark. No one that had any considerable power had got it and kept it without being somewhat morally ambiguous.

The enchantment that the students underwent was unknowingly to them, their first moment of corruption, however, it wouldn’t be the last.

Tissaia De Vries cut herself and bled until ruined hands were useful once again.

She might be called many things, but one she couldn’t be accused of being was an idiot, so she fixed memories left and right and by dawn, nothing remained of the original diagnosis.

The general consensus was that some extremely rare salves had done the trick and no one questioned it at all because she had nothing to win and that would be the only the reason, she would put herself under scrutiny and her position in danger.

There was, after all, a reason that behind her back the Brotherhood had nicknamed her the Ice Queen.

‐

_“You should’ve let me die. At least I had control over that.”_

_“Oh, that’s adorable, piglet. You weren’t taking control. You were losing it.”_

‐

Years passed until it was time for her pupils to go out to curt and everything went well at first, until Stregobor played his hand, sending all of her plans for Yennefer into the gutter. The conniving snake.

The urge to kill him was strong and her hands began to shake, the lightning that she was able to conjure in extreme emotional distress making itself known, but she channelled her fury into verbally fighting a battle that she ultimately lost, overruled by the other four.

Politics were exhausting.

Later that day she calmed herself enough with whiskey, the alcohol turning her mind just the right amount of fuzzy. Head in her hands after finishing her glass, holding back a migraine that threatened to split her in two, the control she had exerted the whole day too taxing even for her.

With her finger she lit her pipe, trying to make with it, in smoke, the figures she had spent decades trying to master, as always in vain, still, she had nothing better to do and working on grading papers sounded like hell at the moment.

If she was this upset, she had a clear idea of how the girl would feel. It would not be pretty and the coffers of the school would have to be opened to replace whatever it was that she would destroy.

A decade she had waited for her visible approval and just when she was finally going to give it to her at the ball, the option had been thrown out of the window. It did not matter how much she wanted to smile every time that she got even the most basic things right, even then, she had to control herself.

Harsh love was the thing that would make them survive the world outside these walls, so she gave them what they needed, not what they wanted; the urge to prove themselves better than her and her low expectations for their future, which they did, some of them at least.

Afterwards, she waited until their resentment towards her turned to respect, even if it took a lifetime.

‐

_“You take weeks to lift your stone. You can’t bend water. You struggle to perform the simplest physical tasks. And now you lie to me? Your worst fear makes such sense. Even if you were a beauty, still, no one would love you.”_

‐

But Yennefer had a knack for reaching into her chest and squeezing hard on the one organ she had always wanted dead.

And then she burst through the door, on the verge of crying, instead screaming and demanding because everything that left her mouth the girl took to heart.

Her feelings so raw her energy mixed with her own seamlessly. Both of them a ticking time bomb.

The moment she accused her of divulging information she had actively wiped from people’s minds, she lost it, standing and slamming her hands against the table, startling them both, her blood boiling more violently than before.

Her voice turned into a pathetic thing in her desperation to make her understand, to make her see, that she had wanted nothing but the best for her and the Rectoress had half a mind to drink herself sick the rest of the week.

Something inside her was telling her to scream at the girl everything she had risked on her behalf and how she would do it once again without thinking twice, that her payment had been the best student she had ever taught, probably would ever teach, but she stopped herself, clenching her teeth instead.

Blue eyes were saying those words, though, the one thing she had never been able to mask. The Arch-mistress felt them rise, the tears that she had not cried in three centuries, an unnatural thing that was not supposed to happen, along with the many unnatural things in her chest that she wasn’t supposed to feel for a mere student.

Her indignation and hurt was a bestial thing that consumed her, worse was the fear at those feelings that were so potent. She wanted to holler and cry, to tear Aretuza down stone by stone and skin Istredd alive for having the sheer audacity of betraying Yennefer for an imbecile like that half-mad rat that was his mentor and sponsor. 

Just before she broke down in front of her like a child, the girl ran out, slamming the door closed and leaving her in a storm she couldn’t hope to survive.

Tissaia cracked the wall in two with a lightning blast made of what she could no longer contain, her fingers tinted white with the remaining shocks, the power in her veins begging her to continue. 

She threw things around with a force no one would guess her petite form held, furniture broke and glass shattered as a result, painting the floor like snow, turning her office into a mess until she had nothing more to destroy, so she screamed herself raw, tears falling from her eyes.

The Rectoress had never been happier that this room was soundproofed.

Sleep didn’t come that night or any night for two weeks straight, instead, she used the time wisely and fixed everything, every single detail until her office was as untouched as before, in the meantime trying and failing to convince herself this was not real, that she was living in a fever dream.

‐

_“There are mages like Sabrina, who ignore their emotions and then there are mages like us who are consumed by them.”_

‐

Then at the ball the unthinkable happened, mid-way through the doors opened to reveal a now beautiful woman with striking eyes, violet fixed on a man in white, in his head an excessively jewelled crown and as she was expected to, she tried to stop her.

Hoping all along that the raven-haired woman would win in the end and she did because she had learned from the best. Her former mentor had taken the time and care needed, to make the bent and broken she used to be, a force to be reckoned with.

She ignored the bitterness she felt at them dancing, the feeling unsolicited and unwanted, her eyes narrowed with contempt.

Tissaia had been at court, had served two or three Kings and she had learned that no matter how handsome they were, it was in their blood to be pompous idiots with few redeeming qualities, nevertheless, this was what Yennefer wanted.

Keeping quiet she downed her wine, tasting nothing but acid before resuming her role as the Rectoress of the institution. 

If it had been for her, she would have stayed, obviously not as a teacher, even if she would have to pretend at being one, teaching one class a week, maximum, since she lacked the patience for more. There were wonders left to be discovered in the books that they housed, nonetheless, the brunette knew it wouldn't come to pass, at least not now.

Maybe she wanted power, maybe she wanted to see the world, the latter in her experience tended to stay the same, to stay disappointing and true power was born of knowledge, secrets were the only currency that never fluctuated and she wanted to share what she knew with her, to discover more by her side, too. As equals. 

It wasn’t like she liked being in charge of dim-witted and arrogant brats, having to drill the basics of magic into hundreds of skulls to end with five that turned out right, the rest too frail to keep up, having to turn them into eels after proving their unworthiness, to power the building up.

Aretuza was much more than the classrooms and the halls and she stayed for that, alas, the violet-eyed mage had always been too stubborn to listen to anyone but herself when she thought herself to be right.

The next day they were bound to leave at noon and although their conversations never lasted much before either of them found themselves bickering over one thing or the other, she was surprised when all the other girls said their goodbyes and the only thing she did was mount the carriage and leave, never looking back.

Disappointment was something she was used to, she didn’t expect such cynicism, though… She didn’t expect to be so irrelevant to her in the end if she was being honest.

The Arch-mistress went on as she always did until she made considerable noise, the Chapter had given her a deadline and it had costed her quite a bit to get them all to agree to it, especially the one man who’d even fail them as an eel.

Tissaia portalled herself from her office to where she was the next day. However much Yennefer thought she could erase her steps, she would always know how to find one of the girls, especially her, since her wants and needs changed so very rapidly.

Now what she wanted was a child and Gods save her, this couldn’t be happening, she knew the cost of enchantment, why did it had to be her problem? Because she still cared too much… She didn’t like that answer at all.

Pettiness and arrogance were expected, she was prepared for it, but cruelty was another thing entirely and her enjoying it that much was as alarming, as it was painful.

She wanted nothing more than to run away, still, she stayed, because even as thick as she was, the Rectoress had to make her understand that danger was lurking behind her shadow, her every move. The only thing protecting her was her seat in the Chapter and even that might fail given enough time.

The mage was about to tell her that when her words became more vicious, cutting through all the walls she had created, as was her unique ability to do so.

Perhaps it was a mistake, to think she could save her from herself once again.

‐

_"How did we get this way? I gave you all I could give. What more do you want?"_

_"Everything. You may go, Rectoress. I have business to attend to."_

‐

She did, leaving that room a vulnerable and pathetic thing. Never again contacting her, never opening up again.

Until the war. Until Sodden Hill. Until the night she told her the truth of why she was here, thinking the world had nothing left to give and she understood, had been there too many times to count, was there too at the moment.

Tissaia also wanted it to stop.

She went to Fringilla only to find that she mattered not to anyone she ever thought she did.

The powder made her sleep, settling on her system, transforming into a parasite inside her, but something in the back of her mind begged her to come back.

When Yennefer found her, her eyes landed on the bloody wound; she had hours before she couldn’t access her magic and she made a choice, one commanded for the first time she could remember on a base need, a raw instinct that told her this was her own legacy.

She would never regret it.

‐

_“Forget the bottle, let your chaos explode.”_

‐

The fire stopped and the destruction around her was beautiful in its own perverted way. Scorched bodies littered the floor, every greenery turned to ash. An army defeated and an unlikely victory achieved.

She smiled genuinely for the first time in years, her whole being shaking from the immeasurable pain. It didn’t deter her happiness, though; awe and a strange feeling of warmth, of absolute fondness, filling her chest.

Tissaia De Vries' legacy was Yennefer of Vengerberg.

A portal opened under her and she fell through the rabbit hole. She hit her head as she collided with the stone floor, her vision became blurry and her gloves came back wet with fresh blood after she touched her scalp.

The brunette tried to stand but was unable to. The last thing she saw before the absolute darkness consumed her were violet eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Kudos and comments make me write faster and they also make my day!


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I live for angssssssttttt, sorry not sorry.

_III._

The world around her moved too fast for her to understand where she was, the sounds were too muted or too loud. Then her fingers touched a silk she could recognize from her own bed, but the air was sterile, she noted, a change since it always smelled like incense, now there was just a hint of some plants she could recognize made the human body regenerate faster. The Rectoress was in her chambers in Aretuza.

The last thing she remembered before waking up was a void that sucked her whole and prior to that… war… dimetirium… pain… fire… _Yennefer_ …

The Arch-mistress stood up with a strength she did not possess, her eyes opened wide, an adrenaline high and immediately she regretted her rashness, as her pulse accelerated, her mouth dry, her skin too tight around muscle and bone. Her head began to throb, her body probably damning her for her stupidity, her lack of control, but it didn't matter, she would have time later for rightful self-loathing.

The memories of Sodden Hill came back to her one by one, each one making it harder for her to breathe, beads of sweat already forming in her forehead, even when she felt like she was in a tub filled with ice. Her nerve endings grew more frayed by the minute as she was hit with a panic attack, petite frame trembling.

Tissaia closed her eyes, trying to make it stop, but there was no use, the waves going on and on until she was dizzy. So many screams she heard that there was no use in trying to separate one voice from the other.

She curled into herself, head resting against her legs, her stomach contracting with the force of it. A painful ache reminding her of the gash that was barely healed and a part of herself wondered if it would break open again, for surely it was sewn closed since she had been poisoned.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t enough for it to bring the devastation of that day to her, suddenly, she was back to being thirteen, screaming and crying hysterically as her father explained to her in blunt terms how she must behave at the bedding ceremony. 

She was scared of the man, her fiancé having marked her thigh at their private breakfast that morning, seemingly enamoured with hurting her, gathering on his finger the blood she drew from her lip as to not scream and licking it, his eyes twinkling with bloodlust.

No, no, no, _no,_ she wouldn’t go there, never again! She was Tissaia De Vries, part of the Chapter, the only woman amongst the five, Rectoress of Aretuza, she was no scared little girl anymore.

She was so strong dimetirium would take weeks instead of days to kill her.

 _His_ face meant _nothing._ She _killed_ him. Tissaia did it before he could rape her and she _enjoyed_ it.

Clawing desperately at her legs with long nails until the ache was enough for it to subside, to move its focus, two droplets of blood fell on the sheets, yet it didn’t make a difference, it was the same colour as the silk, only she would notice.

Her breathing eventually turned deep and consistent and she locked her memories all up where they were supposed to be.

When the Rectoress came back to herself she decided she needed to find one of the girls, what they had to do mattered more than her. She needed to reach them before it was too late for her to prepare them for what was to come, for the things they must hide and the truths they must learn.

She channelled her pain into creating chaos, curious if she had already, in her slumber, walked the first steps in the path to hell. Tissaia’s awareness grew, her frame felt lighter but nothing more, she had no access to who she used to be, only a shadow left and even that was rapidly fading from how subtle it was.

Closing her eyes, the former mage tried to meditate to keep her grief at that terrible lose, at bay, distracted just when she was about to dose off to sleep again.

Three loud voices argued outside her door, one tone more desperate and frantic than the others, though at this distance she could not identify whom they belonged to, not that her current condition allowed for the many things she was accustomed to.

When the door opened, she was already glaring at however it was, blue eyes cold and exasperated. Three women gasped with surprise, Sabrina’s hand against her chest like her ribs would expel her heart, Triss with her face buried in one hand, the other one on the frame of the door, to support herself upright, both their breathings forcefully slowing in an attempt to regain the composure always demanded in her presence.

At least she had that left of her former self.

It shook her though when instead of becoming paralyzed like her friends, Yennefer crossed the large room in strides so hard and fast, her boots would probably ruin the floor and before she knew it two dainty arms were wrapped around her, her face in the crook of her neck, “Tissaia! We didn’t know if you’d wake up! I’m going to kill that bitch for-”

 _“Yennefer!”_ Cried the woman.

She said nothing, understanding the need for secrecy and discretion and gently, slowly, they both let go of the embrace, their eyes never leaving each other’s, the raven-haired girl running her fingers over her knuckles for a split second before dragging a chair and sitting down by her side, resting her hands on the mattress and her head on them.

Sabrina and Triss respectfully let the moment pass and the healer closed the door, warding it.

“Who knows about the dimetirium?” She turned her gaze to the blonde, who looked like she’d been the least injured.

“The Chief Healer and her personal apprentice, they found us all.” Sabrina explained.

“Yennefer was just exhausted, you were barely alive, Coral broke her spine, but Sabrina and I were cured quickly enough. We wiped their minds after we treated you though, they were already panicking and threatening to go to the Chapter.” Triss added, not looking at her.

They both advanced towards the bed, with the blonde sitting at the edge and the brunette laying by her side, head resting on the feathered pillow, curly hair spread like a halo. The three waiting for instructions from her, the last time she’d guide them and sadness rose to the surface, she just hoped everything she had taught them and done for them would be enough, even if they would never know how much she cared.

“Good. Get me my pipe, dear and you, open that cabinet and pass me the second bottle to the left.” Her hand gesturing in tune with her words, once again the Ice Queen.

They did, summoning the first from her office and opening the container before giving it to her, with nimble fingers she took a small part of the contents and put the herbs on the object, turning to the violet-eyed woman, who lit it with her finger, much the same way as she did.

The Arch-mistress inhaled, reclining her weight against the headboard, her back cushioned by messily arranged pillows, getting lost in her thoughts for a while, staring at nothing.

“Is that for the pain?” Came Triss’ gentle voice from next to her.

“Don’t be daft. I’m getting high.” Tissaia clarified, a quick and small smirk at the continued naiveté she was never able to erase from her.

Sabrina snorted, trying to cover it up as a cough and failing spectacularly, earning herself three different sets of glares, responding by sheepishly smiling.

The Rectoress left the pipe in the sheets for a moment and when she was done frowning, she ripped the silver chain from her neck before resuming the important task of smoking herself into oblivion. “How long was I out?” She inhaled once more and grimaced; the physical pain was too much.

“A week.” Triss' voice was full of emotion, tender thing that she was.

“Shit.” Tissaia said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Alright, this is what you are going to do; Yennefer, you are going to hide this necklace where the Chapter can’t find it, you are in charge of that. I trust they will never have any idea where to look, as I did when you snuck sweets into your lessons.”

“Sabrina, you are going to steal from Stregobor his signet ring and give it to her, too. I recall you having butterfingers, don’t look at me like that, I have forgiven you for my earrings.” She continued, pointing at her with the pipe in her fingers like it was some sort of baton.

“Triss, you are going to produce a body and mutate it into my own to appease those imbeciles when they finally notice I'm gone, you were the only one in class that got it right, even if you vomited afterwards. When I die, cremate me and toss the ashes to the sea.” Silence began to fill the room as a result of their new tasks, but she didn’t care, already too stressed.

“You are talking like you’re already dead.” Objected Yennefer, voice in a hiss, prepared to fight.

“Not yet, but I’m as good as. I have two or three weeks at most before that particular milestone.” She exhaled the smoke in her face, feeling like being petty and childish for once.

“I swear to the Gods, if you keep talking like that, I’m going to-” Piglet swatted it away with her hands, scowling at her for all she was worth.

“What are those for?” The healer intervened, lest her friend ended up burning something later that night. The brunette shifted her body to be more comfortable, it really was a good bed.

“They’re keys.” Tissaia’s lips were pressed together, in her eyes a reprimand, like it was absolutely obvious.

“To what?” Triss twisted the rings in her fingers, dreading the situation more with every word.

“Where were you never allowed to wonder about?” The Arch-mistress almost rolled her eyes, instead, she answered in an annoyed whisper.

“The east wing.” Her voice small and her fingers picking at the cloth of her sleeves.

“Wait... What’s there?” Sabrina interjected, curiosity rich in her tone, eyebrows raised.

“Obviously something the Chapter wants to keep hidden even from the Brotherhood. Your tits are so big they take all the blood that should be in your brain.” A sharp nail pointed at her chest; violet eyes full of anger.

“At least I’m not as plain as a wood plank.” The blonde’s pale face flushed, twisted into a sneer.

“Can’t you shut it for at least an hour?” Blue eyes closed, she prayed for patience, as the Rectoress often did when these three were together, “Texts and artefacts about blood magic.”

Nobody said nothing after that, the full implication of what their mission really meant still settling in them. If Tissaia didn’t want the Chapter to have access to that knowledge, then it meant that the remaining four may choose sides and try to change the tide of the war through those means.

Sabrina already knew whom Stregobor would be allied with, she might have respect for the rest of the members, but that man was a sneaky snake.

She turned to look at Triss who had probably gotten the worst part of the deal, her friend had genuine love for the Rectoress and being a healer, coming up with a body to mutate it into their former mentor went against every unspoken rule she lived by, still, it was necessary. The Brotherhood would eventually learn that Fringilla had the metal, learning it right now, though, well, widespread panic was a thing they had never been good at containing, it would only encourage the dissolvement of the Chapter.

The sheets beneath her fingertips were soft, softer than the one she was used to when she had lived at court, a better quality than what the King had given her before returning to Aretuza to learn how to cure people. Nothing like those Triss was covered by when waking up in the infirmary, her throat closed shut and her skin unmarked, like any wound that was promptly treated by magical means, the only discomfort the pain that she felt after talking too much.

When the Chief had told her the state Tissaia was in, she did not waste a moment in aiding her and by that time the matron's student was too spooked to continue cleaning the blue powder from her and sewing the skin of her stomach shut with thread and needle.

Since they had been found in a moment where the Arch-mistress’ magic was almost completely severed from her being there was no use in trying anything but the most basic natural things on her concussion and the cut, unless they wanted to accelerate the process of her decay into madness and her death.

Her body would need to heal like a mortal, still, it wouldn't happen, time was a luxury she didn’t have. It was a testament to how powerful Tissaia was that she hadn’t perished in the week she spent asleep.

She and Sabrina had cried in the privacy of the latter’s former room, after learning about the poison, consoling each other for who they would lose, yet their grief was nothing compared to when they were forced to tell Yennefer the diagnosis.

Their friend was a proud and stubborn woman, too much so for her own good and the resentment she had felt at Tissaia was as it had been for decades, even when the two shared a bond beyond everyone’s understanding or so they thought.

So when they opened the door to a room that looked the same as the one they had mourned in, saying words to her they never thought they would have to vocalize, they didn’t expect Yennefer collapsing to the floor, shaking in a fit of heart-breaking sobs, screaming and cursing the Gods for the unfairness, as they held her so she wouldn’t break alone.

They had never seen her as vulnerable, clutching their skirts like a lost child when her eyes couldn’t weep anymore and her throat was raw. In stuttered whispers, she told them how the wound in the brunette's side was made and they both thought the same thing at that moment; she was the only person Tissaia would sacrifice herself for in that way, but they didn’t say it, not wanting to upset her further.

The thing with pride was that it made love and care too hard to see, twisted it into horrid, false things and she had allowed herself to learn the truth too late.

That’s when she transformed into a ghost, spending every waking moment by her side, refusing to eat, the marks of her sleeplessness under her eyes, as the violet-eyed mage grew gaunt and pale with grief and pain.

Now, that Tissaia had awoken, those signs were masked by a powerful illusion, however, they knew the truth, perhaps the woman, having lost all of her chaos couldn’t feel how hers was a thing as vast as the ocean, how it would eventually drown the mighty Yennefer of Vengerberg... Perhaps it was better that way.

Ignorance, on rare occasions, was mercy.

They rose from the bed in unison, there was much to plan and think about and when the other mage saw them do it, Yennefer nodded her head reluctantly, standing up too, since the brunette was already half asleep again.

She took from her hand the pipe, returning it to its usual spot in her desk and closed the bottle, giving it to Sabrina who put it in its place inside the cabinet without a sound. The three were tiptoeing their way out when a voice, husky with sleep sounded, “Yennefer… Stay for a moment, if you will.”

Triss and Sabrina left almost immediately, trying to comfort their friend by expanding their own energy.

“What is it?” She asked, reclining her frame against the door, arms crossed.

“The thing about death, darling, is that it puts many things into perspective... I’m proud of you, I’ve _always_ been proud, since you lifted that stupid rock the third week.” Her voice was but the faintest whisper, her eyes too expressive.

“I was a brat, too arrogant to understand how much you did for me until it was too late.” The mage admitted, looking at the ceiling, all bravado gone.

“You mustn’t let the Chapter find the keys. Protect them. Promise me.” The injured woman pulled the covers up, suddenly extremely cold.

“I promise, Tissaia. Now go to sleep.” Yennefer vowed.

She door shut behind her with a _‘click’_ , Sabrina and Triss were waiting for her outside; they walked in silence, their hands linked and swinging like the children they had been when they arrived here, at that moment they were powerful mages with legacies of their own no more, for the situation was too much.

They reached one of the indoor gardens and warded the space the moment they made sure they were alone, “Stregobor won’t be hard to fool and with the war, there are too many bodies from which to choose. Yen, you’ve travelled the entirety of Continent, just a portal and they’re gone or better yet, we could even destroy them if we liked.” The blonde explained.

The healer nodded her head in agreement, accepting the second option as the safest and the waiting for their friend's response turned into minutes, nothing but her teeth biting her lower lip telling them that she had heard them and when they were about to nudge her out of her trance, she looked up, eyes full of resolution.

“I won’t let her die.” Her thumbs caressing the necklace carefully before pocketing it.

“How do you plan to save her from the incurable?” Sabrina mocked, tapping her foot against the grass rhythmically.

Their three pairs of eyes crossed paths and they knew. Without a second glance, she left, “We’re fucked.” The blonde groaned, a migraine on its way.

“We are.” Triss said.


	4. IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Okay, I'm done for the week, see y'all in Wednesday or Thursday.

_IV._

Breakfast was never a quiet or very organized affair in Aretuza, so when they stole coffee, bread and grapes from one of the cooks, no one batted an eye, just a distant, _“Don’t dare touch my kitchen with dirty hands!_ ” was heard.

They made their way towards the exact tree where they used to eat lunch at when they had been students, sitting in the grass, for the very first time in many years not caring in the least that the cloth of their dresses might get stained.

Last night was the first time Yennefer had been able to sleep the whole night, finally having found something that could work in saving Tissaia, no matter how dangerous it was or that it could get her exiled or worse, killed.

She reminisced on it as they ate in silence, a pale hand constantly stealing from her bowl the berries that were supposed to be hers, but she couldn’t find it within herself to really care, just slapping long fingers away when there weren't more than ten left.

The sorceress had half a mind to do it by herself, since putting Triss and Sabrina under that kind of pressure was asking too much, a wrong move or word could bring everything they had ever worked for, down, not just with the Brotherhood or the Chapter, but with Tissaia herself, if they found out that she was alive and told her what they had tried. The Rectoress might just hate them for it.

Explaining that was another matter, but she did, the sun shining down on them as they listened and interrupted her reasoning. They wouldn’t have it, the two reminding her constantly just how much was at stake, hinting at how she had always been ruled by emotion and that now it was making her stupid, jeopardizing everything in her need for control, in her delusion that for them it might be risking too much.

“You can’t do it alone! Stop isolating yourself! We’ve put up with that bullshit for _decades_!” Piped Sabrina.

“Of course I can, need I remind you why you’re still alive?” She pointed out; her nails digging into the soil beneath her.

“Don’t be an arsehole, we all know how powerful you are but look me in the eye and tell me if us three or anyone from our generation, no, better yet, anyone from the fucking Brotherhood save the Chapter, could ever hope to compare to Tissaia?” Said the green-eyed woman, her voice a dangerous hiss.

“She’s right Yenna, if not for us, then for the Continent.” Concluded the healer.

And they were right, even with the raw chaos that coursed through her veins, she couldn’t, none of them could ever hope to compare to five hundred years of experience, to the secrets she housed in her thoughts and to the amount of influence she had in every royal line that still remained.

If the Chapter dissolved without her as someone to follow Stregobor’s numbers would be too many, since he, as horrid as he was, was the only one that matched her.

So when peace reigned once again amongst them, they decided that tonight was the night they would raid the east wing, hoping to find a cure within the scrolls and books, while the rumour that the Rectoress was laying low and trying to grow a network of spies in Nilfgaard was spread by some girls that they had purposely let overhear them.

They went on with their day, each with tasks of their own.

╌

Yennefer was finishing with cleaning and dressing Tissaia's wounds when she was forced to stop abruptly, feeling her complex wards go down, the act itself telling her something was wrong, for it wasn’t any of her friends since they were included in them.

Hands ready to attack with fire licking at her fingertips. Whoever it was would regret their mistake.

The door opened and a redhead with a cane entered, with her gloved palm she stopped the fireball that was launched at her, inches away from her face and sat in the chair that Yennefer had claimed as hers since she spent most of her free time here. She gritted her teeth, unbelievably angry at the woman, opting for silence, instead of telling her off as she wanted.

Coral rested both her hands on the walking stick, looking her over and when she was finished judging her, she turned her gaze at the still body of her friend, something akin to regret flashing in her eyes before it was gone.

As if sensing her presence, the brunette let out a whimper, still, that moment of clarity was soon over and she was back to being unaware of anything around her, “She’s dying.” The mage mumbled, her eyes far gone, “Dimetirium.”

“You plan to save her.” Then her face lit up, a satisfied smile transforming her features, Coral clearly approved, “In that room are things long forgotten, maybe, if Destiny is just for once, you won't die in the sacrifice.”

“How do you know?” Yennefer turned, without noticing that the way she was standing was shielding the other woman’s body with her own.

The older mage tilted her head to the side, amused, “You don’t live as long as us without learning a trick or two.”

“Then put it to good use, instead of sticking your nose into business' you are not wanted in. How long until her sanity vanishes? How long does she have before her heart stops?” The raven-haired woman sighed, one palm against her forehead.

“Your temper is as short as hers, but you lack her manners and her grace.” Yennefer rolled her eyes at that and the older woman's lips furrowed, shaking her head lightly, “I shall indulge you still, two for the bedlam, three for the grave. In a fortnight she will be beyond saving, even with the ritual.”

The younger woman huddled in a corner, rubbing her eyes as Coral made to leave. The redhead was about to close the door when she barked; “Wait! I have one more-”

“Stregobor is not as stupid as you think, the ring will have to be replaced with something of equal value so he won’t notice the change. There is treasure hidden in the walls of this room and those of the vault, their secrets shall be necessary for the ceremony.” And with that, she was gone.

She felt like dragging the injured mage back and tying her to that stupid chair until Coral explained herself and all her nonsense. There were very few things she disliked as much as vague answers and she had given her just that. Why was nothing ever easy? What difference did it really make if all they got were riddles? That twat could have put an end to this today.

Eccentricity was common amongst sorcerers and she partook in it every once in awhile, especially when bored or lonely, but this went beyond what she had been taught to tolerate.

Her eyes went to the unmoving frame of the brunette, reminding herself why she must put up with this kind of shit. The rise of the Arch-mistress’ chest was gentle and her eyes fluttered every so often, Yennefer pulled the covers tighter against her when she shivered ever so slightly.

Then she sat down in a most unladylike manner; it would have surely gotten her a sermon were Tissaia awake. She called to her friends.

_“Coral made a surprise visit, don’t shake, you are not a rabbit, Triss. She won’t rat us out to the Chapter.”_

_“Then why are you disturbing our peace? I’ve better things to do than listening to you rant about your interrupted bonding session.”_

_“I’m going to spell your stupid hair into snakes, you sodding-”_

_“STOP IT! Or I’ll sedate you both. Now, why did you call us?”_

_“It’s too important. You need to hear it in person, you have to come up.”_

_“Remind me why you act like the de facto leader?”_

_“Fuck you, Sabrina.”_

_“One more word and I’m gagging you two like in the old days… No comment? Good. We’re coming.”_

After explaining the encounter to them, they decided the best place to start with was the bedroom since Tissaia was running a very high fever and the only moment when the east wing was not patrolled for mischievous students was an hour and a half before dawn. It was still the early afternoon. 

They touched and searched through brick and stone, tentatively pushing into the ones that seemed more disproportionate than the others, moving furniture on and off their designated places so every inch was accounted for.

As the hours passed their levels of frustration and infuriation began to rise, worse than what could be called normal since two of them were very impatient women and Triss already had a hard enough job keeping them off each other’s throats as not to wake the Rectoress, before that.

Tissaia’s shivers grew more violent by the minute and they understood not why, the wound was clean and the concussion on her head was almost completely healed, so they assumed it must be a side effect of the dimetirium.

They recounted their steps time and time again until there was no corner left unchecked, the brown-eyed woman the first one to give up for the day, instead devoting her remaining energy into keeping the other brunette safe, “This is bullshit.” Muttered the blonde, tapping her fingers against her crossed arm, getting nothing but silence in return, “Yen, why are you not complaining with me?” She asked.

“I’m thinking.” Was her only answer.

“A miracle.” Sabrina huffed.

“Don’t- even- start.” Hissed Triss, giving them a look that meant trouble.

Yennefer paced some more until she was almost sure she had worn a hole in the carpet and then her gaze landed in the intricate designs that adorned the door that gave way to the bathroom and the wardrobe, fantastic scenes beautifully displayed in mahogany, made by a race that was hunted in hopes of extermination to this day. Then it hit her, “Sabrina, resident history fanatic, has every Rectoress inhabited the same room?” She said in a sing-song voice.

“Yes.” Came the annoyed reply.

“And they’ve all worn the same pendant?” Violet eyes locking with green, questioning.

“Indeed, they have.” A blonde eyebrow raised, perhaps in her isolation, her sibling had become a nutter.

With a snap of her fingers all the lights went out, the room cloaked in black and before the two could protest she had the necklace out. Yennefer closed her eyes and breathed in deep, a familiar feeling coming from her core to the rest of her body and then light, pure white passing through the gem in the middle and in the walls something became visible.

It was like paint, words written in Elder that they couldn’t understand, shining with a blue-tinted glow, almost too ethereal for them, the sheer intensity of it making their eyes ache. Excited energy filled the air, with Triss trying to make out what the illustrations meant and Sabrina translating what little she could, but she just focused on finding an irregularity in the neatly arranged drawings and writings.

She moved the key to a different angle when they were done looking in one specific place, enthralled, yes, nevertheless, not enough so to forsake the true purpose of this successful experiment.

In the spot next to the headboard was a phoenix, its wings spread open, a graceful and proud beast, extinct for a millennium. It was unheard of, Elves didn’t venerate those animals, their myths and legends didn’t even mention them, so this was clearly made when mages had first settled in Aretuza and some of the original magic was still tangible enough to manipulate.

The candles were lit again and she pressed the chain to the space, but nothing changed, no illusion dissolved, no compartment opened. She turned to her companions, who were clearly just as disappointed as her.

“Do you think it’s a blood ward? They were not uncommon when the school was founded.” Theorized Triss, her gaze to the floor.

“Only one way to find out.” Yennefer mused, tilting her head to the side, her lips pressed together.

She pricked an elegant finger with a needle she summoned from the infirmary, drops of red soon following and she wiped them with her own finger until it was coated. All of them panicking that the brunette hadn’t moved or complained, half expecting her to rise and curse them into next year for having the nerve.

It didn’t happen, nothing happened, as the minutes passed.

Just when the blood was about to dry out, she painted with it the spot where she remembered the peck of the bird to be. The stone reacted, rearranging and moving, revealing to them a variation of objects; a journal that was burnt at the edges, several pieces of jewellery so fine they looked like they could only belong to a royal, among them a tiara and finally, a dagger, words she couldn’t recognize craved into the metal, runes on the handle.

The violet-eyed woman took the last item out first, its' balance perfect in her olive hands. She was about to show it to them when two ominous cries were heard; Tissaia was twitching, contorting and shaking in her bed.

Yennefer lunged for her, letting go of the blade, which landed in the floor with a graceless _‘thud’_. She grabbed her by the wrists, just seconds away from clawing at her cheek and making a deep cut, stopping her at the last moment. Manoeuvring them both with impressive speed so her back was against her chest, her own against the headboard, the wooden carvings digging painfully into her and her whole focus on keeping the brunette as close as possible as to restrict her movement. With a particularly violent jerk of the other’s head against hers, her nose began to bleed _, “What are you two brainless tossers waiting for?!”_ The sorceress yelled.

Triss broke a part of her sleeve and gagged the woman with it, knowing just how likely it was she’d chip or even break her teeth, counting, too, the possibility of cutting her own tongue out and while she was doing that Sabrina pinned her legs to the mattress with her hands, earning herself a black eye with a sloppy mistake.

It didn’t stop when it was supposed to, so the healer came up with a solution that her friend wouldn’t like. She told the blonde her plan telepathically, while the other woman was busy, while they were in no danger of her stopping them.

Calming herself enough to be able to harness the needed power proved difficult, but Triss did it, chaos travelling from her chest to her arms, then her hands, _“Now!”_ Grunting with the effort, Sabrina sent her raven-haired friend flying against the wall and pulled Tissaia's legs with as much force as she could garner, positioning her flat against the plain surface and restraining her body with magical bonds firmly against the mattress, as she took the energy hit.

It was so powerful they were momentarily blinded, missing the moment the woman opened her eyes in panic, unaware of why she was being attacked, before being knocked out. Tissaia’s jaw went slack, all the air in her lungs pulled out and the stitches in her abdomen ripped open, her nightgown coated red in an instant but the seizures stopped.

“What the _fuck_ was that?!” Yennefer’s hand was in her head, where she was sure it would swell.

Dusting off her dress, Sabrina responded, “Our only option, you bloody idiot.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” The sorceress stood up, groaning, “Take all that’s inside the compartment and seal it but leave me the dagger. We’ll go to the vault tomorrow. I’ll fix Tissaia and her wounds up, you two right the room.”

“Yes, General.” Her sister taunted.

Overwhelmed, she whined, “Save it, Bree.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Hands up in surrender.

By the time they were finished, nobody would have been able to tell anything as chaotic as that had happened in that space. Exhausted, Sabrina and Triss portalled themselves to their respective quarters, with Yennefer insisting on staying to wait and see if the seizures returned, even if the sun was coming up and her eyes begged her to let them close.

A lost cause they didn’t even try to fight.

With Tissaia asleep on her side, she was able to examine her face, sharp cheekbones and an equally sharp jawline, lashes too black and long for it to be fair, flushed cheeks and rosy lips. She was so very beautiful and the mage guessed that she had been almost as gorgeous before her own ascension, knowing she was right even if she couldn’t prove it.

Yennefer’s fingers cautiously, like she was about to commit a felony, interlocked with hers and she didn’t dare move for a few minutes, not wanting to break a peace that was surely fragile. She was finally cool to the touch, the violet-eyed mage noted, the blast the culprit, most likely, a small mercy at least and closing her eyes, she fell asleep, still only human despite her tremendous power.

╶

When Tissaia opened her eyes her head was pounding, her skull threatening to split in two, her lungs aching, the gash in her stomach pulsating aggressively and the pain so strong it wouldn’t let her turn even her neck.

She noticed a little too late that there was a foreign and unknown hand holding hers, fingers intertwined. Blue eyes came to focus on what was Yennefer’s form, passed out from looking after her. The woman didn’t dare breathe, the feelings bubbling up on her chest were too precious for her to alter the scene by alerting the other of her conscious state. Instead, she admired her, peaceful in her sleep as she never was whilst awake.

Tissaia went back to sleep eventually, with a small smile on her face, dreaming of lovely things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Before any of you even think about murdering me, the next 2-3 chapters are pure fluff and sweet sweet longing. 
> 
> Props to Coral for volunteering for the job of the vague and ominous bitch, that knows too much and still don't say shit.


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I HATE PROOFREADING! I HATE IT AS MUCH AS I HATE STREGOBOR! 
> 
> Y'all don't know the suffering of writing a chapter with little to no angst.

_V._

As outlandish as it was, the three friends were all in a magically enlarged bed, acting like the teenagers they most definitely were not and enjoying themselves far too much for anyone that happened to see to think they were powerful, deadly and manipulative sorceresses.

Tissaia would have been incredibly disappointed at the display; this would have probably earned them a week of extracting ingredients for potions, especially since the space was such a mess, that rats would probably be happy to inhabit it too.

But they were bored and tired of waiting for the men and women that patrolled the east wing to take their leave and having finished their chores they really had nothing better to do, even Yennefer, who spent almost every waking moment by the sickly mage’s side, had nothing to worry about for once since they had her under a magical sleep that could only be lifted by them and her vitals were somewhat alright.

Thus, the plan for a girl’s night was born; they had first stolen sweets from the kitchens, filling their pockets to the brim and portalling the ones that did not fit to the designated party room.

They were with that finished soon enough, however in the blonde’s greed for more, she had ruined several meat pies, which had caught on fire when the green-eyed woman opened the ovens they were in, just as the other two were almost at the door, to check if cookies were in the making. It was a magical contraption, so it didn’t respond well to being manipulated when it was dealing with anything more complicated than biscuits, so the almost finished tarts were quickly enveloped by the flames.

Of course, it had to be Sabrina’s fault, gluttonous as she was but they had successfully fled the crime scene just before getting caught, as one of the senior cooks was starting to battle the fire, which was a common occurrence nowadays, since all of the newly ascended mages had chosen to stay in Aretuza because of the war, royal courts at the moment were treacherous things they had no idea how to navigate.

That was the explanation of why extremely talented mages were all doing humble things that served no purpose but to fill time, until the hour to sneak into the vault to finally discover if a cure existed came. They had finished their chores and they had been left with nothing better to do.

Triss was braiding Yennefer’s hair into a complex, pretty thing, having to fight many stray hairs that let themselves loose without permission, changing the original idea several times and chiding her friend every so often for moving.

Sabrina, however, was reading one of her favourite novels, upside down, a thing she had done since young, never fully content with the lack of romance in the world and knowing her, it was probably a graphic text too, the slight blush in her cheeks just confirming it.

Yennefer had a piece of coloured parchment in one hand and scissors in the other, trying and failing to fold it into something that resembled a cauldron, her fingers stained, for she was currently attempting to recreate a shimmering potion bubbling inside of it.

When the brunette was finally done with the raven locks, she conjured extremely small roses that adorned the braid prettily and just like that she was bored once again, with nothing worthwhile to do. No option left but to nag the other two into answering her random questions, "Breena, did you turn any courtier’s fat?” The best way to get her attention.

She stopped, raising and leaning back on her elbows her book forgotten somewhere on the floor, “Of course, she did, Triss.” Remarked their violet-eyed friend, absolutely aware of how petty the blonde could be when angered or provoked.

“Henselt, only once, though, well, before he did it on his own, anyways.” Sabrina shrugged, unaffected, “What? That little bitch had it coming.”

Triss giggled, she would have paid a hefty sum to be there, “Don’t take the high ground now you two, a little bird came all the way to Kaedwen and told me that Aedrin’s King had… shameful limitations.”

“Well, that brute went impotent in his mid-forties and I had to deal with it, it was a nasty thing.” Yennefer jokingly gagged, flashbacks of that playing in the back of her mind.

“King Demetry was a lovely person most of the time, nonetheless he had a tendency to overshare things when he was deep in his cups, so I had no option but to wipe many, many minds when there was a banquet or a ball.” The brown-eyed mage effused.

And so, their talk went on and on, until they arrived to the deep questions which only had painful answers, it was okay, they were as good as sisters, no, they _were_ sisters. Their secrets were in no danger, other than them getting mad at each other and repeating the information in a vicious manner, afterwards getting revenge and going back to loving each other, “Did any of you went back to your families after our ascension?” Triss’ face was covered by a pillow, her soft and gentle voice muffled.

“I didn’t, I hated them all since I had enough mind to do it. The day Tissaia took me away from there was the best day of my life.” Sabrina’s smile was wide, her eyes and nose crinkled.

“I did, my sisters were all married off by that point, only Mom was at the farm, she threw me out the moment she saw me, actually.” She looked up to the ceiling, her brow furrowed, with narrowed violet eyes, “Screaming that the fancy, pretty bitch that bought me had cursed her husband until he was as twisted as a politician and his blood as black as a witch’s heart.”

“Do you think she did it?” Her brown eyes went wide as she removed the pillow, her voice a tentative whisper.

“Triss, sweet, innocent Triss, focus on the symptoms, that is in fact a jinx. Tissaia killed him.” The blonde scoffed patronisingly, yet it came out wrong, she was just as shocked.

“Okay, I get that, but _why?_ She didn’t know Yennefer; she didn’t have anything to gain. That curse is a horrible thing, made only for one’s enemies… _Why?_ ” An exasperated and confused sigh left her.

“…I don’t know.” Yennefer said.

The three friends stayed in silence after that.

╌

They dressed in black robes, hoods drawn up to blend in better with the shadows, to be inseparable to the naked eye from the dark.

Three women approaching the vault in complete silence, none of them dare even whisper in the chance that someone from the Chapter was already doubting the rumours and they were being watched. It was terribly unlikely since three of them lacked the necessary brains and Stregobor was visiting Istredd in his stupid ruins.

The three men and the two women that always stood guard had left ten minutes earlier, however, they were not taking any chances; the sounds of their steps were non-existent, silenced by chaos. Their pace was rapid and their frames were lighter with the amount of magic flowing through their veins, prepared to attack, just in case and their faces distorted beyond recognition by a spell the violet-eyed mage had learned in one of her travels around the Continent.

Three ghosts on a mission.

Olive fingers ripped the chain from her neck, pressing it against the surface, nonetheless, the massive cedar doors did not open, they remained unmoving, still, this did not deter her, knowing first-hand how deviousness was a vital part of chaos.

She pressed this time, her hand against the wood and it went through, vanishing from sight. Yennefer didn’t wait until the others had the time to understand, pushing her whole-body forwards into the vault. 

When Sabrina and Triss followed, foreboding filled their chests, giving them goosebumps when a strange sound was heard. The blonde carefully tried to exit the same way they had entered, nevertheless, her body collided with something solid and when she turned to tell that to her friends she was rendered speechless, just like the other two, when taking in the view.

Scenes of rituals painted in every single available space on the red walls, depicted with meticulous detail and a crystal chandelier lit the room, adorning it with an ethereal glow. There were bookshelves upon bookshelves of texts and scrolls. In the back was the treasure Coral had talked about, a colossal shelf from ceiling to floor and as long as the room itself was made of pure glass. Hundreds upon hundreds of blood artefacts and jars filled with ingredients they had never seen were neatly organized, they all rested together, untouched and unsullied by time and usage.

The energy of chaos here was as raw as in Tor Lara, even more so, magic like nothing they had ever felt before.

In the centre there was a huge ritualistic circle, words in Elder outlining it, with runes they had never seen adorning it. It was wide enough to fit at least seven people lying down. Above it there was a hole in the ceiling, perfectly aligned with the moon, it illuminated the circle, its' light a caress, perhaps even a blessing to the things that had and would transpire there.

This was beyond what any of them could have ever imagined.

Still overwhelmed, the green-eyed sorceress forced herself to break the silence, they needed to start looking, there was too much to sort through, “Alright, so the books to the left are translations and the ones to the right are written in Elder, from the markings in the wood, so no use looking there.”

“Triss and I will tackle the front, Yen, you go to the back, near the artefacts is where the most valuable shit must be.” Pale hands clapped aggressively to get their attention. It worked and they dispersed, looking, sorting and reading through an alarming number of books until they were sure later on in life they would need spectacles.

Most of them were filled with things too dark, yet, they still studied every single word until they were left with bile rising to their throats. Triss too often had to look away, even if only for a moment, so she was able to continue. But not everything was as obscure, they found amongst the printed and written words, every sort of things that went from fixing unusable, marred limbs, to a deliberate inflicting of damage with a process slow enough to look like a natural death, along with how to enchant any material object so the time needed to fix a myriad of maladies was prolonged.

None of this served them of course and the hours blurred together, their patience lasting them longer than when they were looking through Tissaia’s room because this level of information had been expected.

Even so, they found nothing, nothing at all that explained how to cure a mage of dimetirium. Hope was finally lost when there was not a single book or scroll left to look through.

Sitting on the floor, Triss and Sabrina waited for Yennefer to explode. They waited and waited, magic already in their hands to minimise the danger and the damage. It didn’t happen and this was more alarming to them than her burning the room to ashes. Instead, she turned on herself, facing the circle, “What hour is it, Bree?”

With a wave of her hand numbers appeared before them, half past six in the afternoon, “Okay, I’ll portal us out this hellhole.”

A numbness settled on her chest where the pain minutes before had threatened to kill her and with her hands, she made the motions for a portal, but after ten tries, it still wouldn’t open. How stupid she could be? A room as warded as this would obviously not allow for it. They were stuck the rest of the day here.

Yennefer groaned, taking out the dagger she had stolen from Tissaia and throwing it, violet eyes defeated.

Turning to look at them with the poise of a tortured woman and gesturing with her head, they understood what she meant, so the three of them applied cushioning spells to the floor, falling promptly asleep.

Her dreams were filled with memories.

There is a kind of pain so great, that breaks the soul so completely, that you can’t even weep.

╌

Tissaia had been waking up for longer periods of time the four days that followed after they had unlocked the vault, sometimes lasting even an hour before pain exhausted her and she had to go back to sleep. Almost always magically induced, not that she knew it was, for it had been easy to discover that the Rectoress’ body was not accustomed to sleeping the necessary eight hours.

Mumbling nonsense whilst lost to oblivion, Yennefer assumed by the violent nature of her movements as she thrashed and the distressed tone laced with her whispers, (both there nearly all the times she closed her eyes, a fair ninety per cent, in her opinion), that they belonged to nightmares that haunted her.

What or who for fuck’s sake could haunt someone like her?

Violet eyes guarded her rest most of the time, until she was forced by the other two to stop, which meant she was almost always there when the blue-eyed woman was conscious. In the rare occasion that the Tissaia woke up without her being in the room, the one that was standing guard called her there, as Yennefer had threatened with making them bald, making good on it once and having earned herself a potent laxative masked as coffee after ridding Sabrina of one of her eyebrows.

Had Triss not intervened, re-growing her facial hair, perhaps they would have ended up in a duel, their hands bloody and their bodies bruised when they inevitably exchanged their magic for their fists.

It was good to be back, not that she would say it out loud, but she had realized so many things in so little time; like their uprising had stopped them from acting and living, silly and young. Many of them came from abusive homes and while their bodies had been that of children, their minds, those were of people that had been forced to grow up too fast.

So, when they arrived at Aretuza, Tissaia had taught them a new way of how to live life, all her lessons with a harshness and ruthlessness that had ultimately made them stronger. Making them angry, because that was all she knew they could feel, pushing them until their only option was to prove her wrong for the sake of it.

She had taken weak girls and made them resilient, like she knew, that this was the only way they could survive and many of them had unjustly loathed her for it, herself included.

It was, after all, easier to hate than to love.

The problem was _why_ did she know something like that? Back then it was easy to think she was nothing more than their professor, an icy matron, so much so they had forgotten just how human she was and the three of them regretted that profusely, reminded of their mistake every time they opened her door.

The Rectoress had been invincible in their eyes, someone who could command the tides, the only woman that could challenge Destiny and get away with it. Now, though, she was just a mortal, her legacy, her title, her power, all invalid to Tissaia herself, the moment her magic had been ripped from her chest, even if she refused to say it.

The raven-haired woman wasn’t kidding that day, she would kill Fringilla and she would make it last.

She was too proud to voice it, but there was a shadow suffocating her when she came back to the world of the living, a pain that couldn’t compare to anything they could have ever done to her body. Tissaia’s eyes glazed over every time she forgot she had no chaos left and said the words, made with her hands the necessary movements and nothing happened.

So, when she heard an enraged scream and the shattering of glass, part of Yennefer had already guessed what had happened.

The brunette had asked to take a bath, tired of being cleaned only by magical means and she had indulged her because ultimately, she hadn’t been able to save her and these were her last wishes. The raven-haired mage had filled the massive tub and waited outside the door the whole time afterwards, something in the way her blue eyes couldn’t look into her violet ones telling her this was it.

When she opened the door, the woman was sitting in the floor, Tissaia’s body covered by a blue robe and damp, long hair obscuring her face as she looked at nothing, motionless, almost catatonic, hands cut and bloodied. Yennefer closed the door and sat across from her, taking both her hands in her own, careful to not touch her injured palms, “I’m sorry you’ve lost so much.”

No answer, “Look at me. _Please_.” She did, before looking back down, not moving from how they were and in such close proximity, she could note that Tissaia smelled like orchids and raspberries.

Both of them stayed like that for a while, needing it as much as the other, too long had they not allowed themselves to find comfort, to grieve or to feel anything, cloaking the truth of things with sarcasm, pride and stubbornness. It had to stop, before the things inside them swallowed them whole, before they lost anything genuine left, “I’d take your place if I could.”

Blue eyes looked up, indignation and fury overshadowing them, “Do _not_ lie to me. You detest me.”

“I thought for so long that I did and it was never true... I swear to you on everything that I’ve ever loved that I would.” Her violet eyes matching in intensity.

“Why would you ever do something as stupid as that?” Tissaia hissed, digging her nails into her slashed hands.

“Because we need you, _I need you_ , you are _important._ ” Yennefer pleaded.

“That’s a falsehood, none of you need me anymore… I am _nothing_.” A bitter statement, a lie she had forced herself to believe it was true.

“ _Listen to me!_ You are _so_ much, even without chaos; the only woman in the Chapter, advisor to every royal line that’s ever existed, Rectoress of Aretuza, mentor to a dozen generations, Arch-mistress of magic, senior mage of the Brotherhood. You are all that and _more_.” She shook her head no but it didn’t stop her, she needed to make her _see_ , to make her _understand_ before it was too late.

“All of it, it was _you_ , it wasn’t magic, it was your cunning, your ambition, your perseverance and your passion. We are vessels for a reason, because we are _worthy_ of it, of the _gift_ of _magic_ , you are _so much so_ you will go down in history as the most powerful sorceress _to have ever lived_.” Resting her forehead against hers, the younger woman continued.

“You took us in, as a bunch of idiots and shaped us into _powerful people,_ it was your job to _teach_ us, not to _save_ us and you still did, time and time again, even when we wouldn’t listen... Your legacy will never just be fancy political speeches, petty conflicts solved with careful strategies and complicated spells; _Tissaia De Vries, you are your own legacy_.” By that point, tears fell from her eyes and she cleaned them with her thumb, letting her own fall freely.

_“Thank you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Okay, so that happened, BUT DON'T FREAK OUT! Tissaia WILL be saved but I couldn't make it that easy for them to find the information.
> 
> Also, get yourselves a partner that can pep talk like that.


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Me- I won't make it easy for them to find the cure! *evil laugh* *checks timeline* Well, fuck me, not that easy, more like it. 
> 
> The next chapter is ALL Tissaia and Yennefer, so stay tuned!

_VI._

They tried to make her feel the whole week, but it didn’t work, it was like something so primal and necessary had been extirpated from her that it had left nothing valuable behind. Even so, Yennefer was good at pretending, so she made them believe she didn’t feel like reopening the scars on her wrists, make some tiny ones to fill the space next to them and laughed, smiled, when they expected her to.

Triss and Sabrina had given her all of Tissaia’s stolen things after she returned from helping the mage from her breakdown and she treasured them, cleaning them compulsively until the jewels looked like new, leaving the diary alone because when she opened it she recognized it to be too close to the same penmanship that berated her in almost all of her essays for comfort and she would respect her secrets even if her curiosity almost killed her.

When looking through them for the second time in the dead of the night her remaining control was lost… She couldn’t find the dagger.

For context, the three of them had decided on sharing living quarters after the fiasco five days prior, each with a transfigured four-poster bed of their own, soundproofed every night from the inside out as they inhabited a magically enlarged room.

So when Yennefer tore everything down at four in the morning and they were abruptly forced to leave dreamland to discover that she was the cause of all that noise and not an intruder, they would have bound her to her bed without hesitation, had it not been frantic, savage eyes looking back at them.

The sorceress didn’t explain shit to them, instead, she hurriedly put on a knitted sweater and left the room barefooted, with them following her after righting themselves enough. Their friend was already dangerous in her best moments, now, being as upset as she was and running around was the largest red flag they would ever know.

They walked through Aretuza’s many halls, mimicking her movements with practised ease from their own escapades when she paused or hid behind a pillar to avoid detection. Feeling unnerved that the woman had gone half-mad in less than two hours since they fell asleep and for no apparent reason, no less.

When they arrived to the east wing, they thanked the Gods for the time on which she had chosen to go on a rampage. None of the guards were there and no one had any idea that she was in possession of the pendant, the only reason they would be here at this moment.

They just entered the vault with no ceremony and waited for her to give them any clue as to why they were here. She was dishevelled, going through all the bookshelves and the scrolls in search of something.

Shit, perhaps she had been infected or cursed by the texts, the Rectoress always told them to handle everything magical with gloves on.

Profanities left her lips as Yennefer grew more and more frustrated, her fingertips turning orange, her hair dancing around her like a halo of snakes... This would end badly for all of them.

Sabrina then eyed the dagger in the middle of the circle, the same minute as Yennefer did, leaving for later the question of why it was there when she had thrown the blade elsewhere. The green-eyed sorceress sprung for it, tired of her bullshit and worried that that item had been the one to put her like this, but they were both too fast, grabbing the handle at the same time, tugging and pulling, comparable to toddlers fighting for a toy.

Triss followed them into the circle, ready to intervene in the chance they stabbed themselves with it.

“What is wrong with you?!” Green eyes pleaded.

“Shut the fuck up and give it to me!” The raven-haired mage yelled, manic in her need to have it.

The blonde yanked with more force, lest she get worse with the item in her possession, “We thought you had mourned! What’s happening? What’s wrong? _Stop leaving us behind! You are our sister, Yen, please!_ ”

“ _Tissaia’s dying, you stupid twat, that’s what wrong!_ ” Yennefer’s whole frame was shivering.

It was easy for them to see in her violet eyes that she was too far gone somewhere they couldn’t follow. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t try to, of course.

“We thought you had come to terms with it!” Sabrina protested, her breathing quickening.

“ _I lied! I might just jump into the sea after she dies!”_ It was the truth; one she hadn’t meant to say out loud.

The healer’s hand went to her mouth, her other hand clenched into a fist, her pretty face contorting. They knew she would probably try it, both of them had nothing but her threat to do it to prove it, still, they knew, that the moment Tissaia died, might be the one they lost their sibling too.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_!” A warning, the blonde couldn’t lose them both, at least not like that.

“ _Stop it! Both of you!”_ Wailed Triss.

 _“NO!”_ They hollered in unison.

A momentary distraction, her cry and Yennefer’s palm was slashed open, the drops of red grazing the pendant that hung from her wrist before colliding with the stone, the words and runes glowing red around them.

It left them no time to react, no time to cast a spell or even realize what was happening. The ground that supported their weight disappeared and three different screams were heard as they fell, down the strange void they went.

Their limbs crashing with the spiral stairs every so often, bracing themselves for impact and landing on an ivory floor. When they managed to regain their wits, all of them groaned, wounded, with Sabrina still holding the dagger.

The raven-haired mage was the first to rise, snatching the blade from pale hands and putting it in the leather holster she conjured.

The blonde was second, dusting herself off, making it seem like she was attacking the cloth of her nightgown and her robe.

The brunette was last, cleaning her face with her sleeve, about to curse the two of them into next week when her eyes adjusted to the darkness around them and she gasped.

Around them were books and artefacts that were clearly too valuable to have to go through another round of protection. A vault within a vault, hidden where few would think to look.

They separated to look through them, but not before Sabrina took a lock of dark hair and pulled which as much might as she could muster and Yennefer said nothing, her hand rubbing her scalp.

The texts and scrolls were under lock and key, a different one than the objects, nevertheless, the sorceress tried what first came to mind and the glass opened when the dirty pendant came near it.

They each took about eight of them in their arms, only to return another three times for the same amount, leaving the bookshelf bare of anything. It would take them a considerable amount of time to look through it all but it would be worth it if in these lay the cure to dimetirium.

The three of them would have to talk about what happened and she would avoid it until they pressured her into speaking or they forgot. Right now, it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter because the only thing that was on her mind was her necessity to find something to save Tissaia with, nothing would ever matter until she did.

The redhead had been adamant that something existed, so maybe she had been talking about this.

After studying the first one it was clear the knowledge within these was enough to shake the whole Continent to its core, to quite literally move heaven and earth, to make mountains into nothing but a pile of dust and the sea into nothing but a pond, to summon demons from the far beyond to collect souls the caster deemed as unworthy, to corrupt even nature, turning it into a polluted thing.

This were the records that could turn a monumental war into nothing, nothing more than a simple game, this was what they had to hide from the Chapter and for the first time, they _really_ understood why Tissaia had been so insistent on the keys disappearing.

Stregobor or Fringilla could make themselves Emperors with these books, with these artefacts that were already whispering to them promises of ultimate power, the world at their feet should they be as brave as to pay the cost.

Still, some talked about healing any human illness, about turning deserted and abandoned land into the most fertile thing to ever exist, about summoning a pious almighty thing to ask it for a precious gift. Some even offered peace, reconciliation to those memories that never ceased to haunt, closure to those wounds that would never turn to scars.

Some of the pure devices whispered to them too, to use them on themselves to mitigate the ache of the past, to share their gifts so humanity could thrive. All of their pleas, good and bad, went ignored.

Triss found it, in a history book and she sat between them, her face solemn, “Coral was right.”

_“The true nature of Dimetirium and its absolution._

_By Sir Ian Relish._

_Written in the year 203._

_Count Gennady Padraig was originally an aristocrat in the Aedrinian court, a kind and charismatic boy that in his adolescence presented an impressive ability to harness chaos, the power in his veins too strong to truly understand to this day._

_His conduit moment was him saving his elderly father, levitating him and placing him gently on the ground when his horse launched him into the air._

_Against his will he was taken from his loving home, to be mentored by Esben Ryker in the art of magic. Many years have passed and not one thing is known about the relationship between the two, only that when the time came, they parted ways, keen on never seeing the other again._

_He returned to the household a changed man, a cruel one at that, only to find an empty estate and two graves._

_Gennady was well-liked and respected in his Before, but the wounds left by his deceased family and his thwarted life never closed, they festered until he went mad with his need for more power, with his experiments at resurrection._

_The townspeople feared him so that a rather wretched revolt forced the King to banish him, settling and isolating himself in the mountains close to the rising Nilfgaardian Empire, the throne just seating its first Emperor._

_Dimetirium was created by a powerful sorcerer, by a man highly talented in alchemy, by him._

_As his legend grew so did his bravado; he started his experiments on children and babies, branding them and killing them by forcing them to wield so much chaos they turned into dust. Afterwards collecting their remains, trying and failing, thank the Gods, to bring them back with his own blood._

_It is not originally a metal as people have been led to believe, it is but the ashes of mortals with no natural ability to channel chaos as we do, their flesh cut and their bodies forced to serve as vessels, sending them into an early grave. Corrupted remnants that transform into a metal after being tainted by a sorcerer’s lifeblood._

_He would soon discover that it was no useless dirt, though, instead a powerful poison that infected mages, severing from their soul their magic and making them descend into madness until finally, it killed them._

_Enchanters had just established themselves in Aretuza, an imposing castle built by Elves, who had used it to house their knowledge, their scholars, their most dangerous secrets and the King of their seven courts. Three former nobles had begged for sanctuary in the early days of the war and were refugees who hid there, protected by people that could understand and accept how they were different from humans._

_Just before summer’s solstice, he attacked, destroying many of the same people that he perceived to have ruined his life. About forty people were infected before Gennady was executed amidst the catastrophe but not before a woman saved her lover from the poison in an act of love, the infected mage surviving weeks, instead of days, as the others had, to everyone’s surprise._

_The Elves knew of a possible cure since in their culture blood magic was not taboo; they had heard of a ritual created by their ancestors in the event that a part of one’s soul, energy, essence, however we wish to call it, was severed from their being._

_Yes, my dear reader, that is the truth, however spiritualistic or not we believe ourselves to be, we sentient beings have something special within, something precious and unique._

_Dimetirium is such a corruption of that, it can’t even be called necromancy, it separates from us that one part we cannot live without. The victims die severed from the divine._

_I ask you to try to and imagine losing everything you ever were, to imagine a transgression so great, you will die a broken thing, lost forever to the dark. You may think you have an idea but you are wrong, you shall not even be a ghost, nothing remains._

_How can we bring something as sacred as that back to a person that has lost so much?_

_We cut our own soul apart and share it with them, till the end of our days._

_We break ourselves until we are as shattered as them._

_Now, soul bonds are not to be taken lightly and they are not guaranteed to succeed. Both persons must already share a bond of an emotional kind, a strong and deep one at that, one so great we can begin to think about doing it._

_While the victim withers, we can only hope they have been contaminated close to a solstice, one of the only two days of the year where we can draw from nature the needed power for the ritual, instead of depleting our own reserves._

_And we begin._

_Both parties’ skin must be cut with a rhodium blade, the purest metal there is, adorning their flesh with runes and words in Elder, coating the wounds with the potion we shall create from extremely rare ingredients (All of it listed in the next page) and after their skin is slashed open, we must fill all the cuts with the liquid. The two shall wait for the light of the moon inside the sacred circle._

_Then the torture, I mean, fun, starts._

_Chaos will judge your sacrifice worthy or not when the light first illuminates you, if you are found lacking, you will both die in that moment, the two perishing as if they had both been tainted by dimetirium. In the rare case that you are found to be enough, you will scream and cry and twitch and convulse for hours, though the exact pace changes from person to person._

_I am one of the few that witnessed the ritual first hand and apart from regretting seeing the process, I can tell you that the pain inflicted on them was unlike any torture that will ever exist._

_If your soul or the others survive the strain, the wounds will knit themselves closed, along with any other wound inflicted by other means and any scar on your body will disappear. The only testament of what happened will be the rune that goes in your solar plexus, right above where your beating heart is, white and calm after the process ends._

_My friends, well, they survived and the Elves told us that they must not be apart, even for a moment, for at least two weeks afterwards. None of us want to repeat that, weak as they were, they remained as obstinate as before, they bickered day and night. Most of us blame our later alopecia on that._

_They did die the same day, to no one’s surprise and the consequences of the act, well, I would need to make another book to explain them all. Those weren’t all nice or comfortable, however, they learned to live with them._

_Love is a powerful thing, but what those two shared went beyond what any of my words could ever hope to convey._

_It was an honour to see their story._

_I shall forever miss them and smile when thinking of who they were._

_Page 349 of 760, ‘Magical Secrets in the early years of the Continent by the Sorcerers who saw it happen.’”_

When they turned to the next page, they noticed just how exceptional the ingredients needed would be to obtain and how complex and detailed the runes were to cut into human skin as precisely.

Sabrina didn’t know whether to scream or laugh or cry, so she did what was easiest at the moment; complain, “Well, shit, we are so majorly fucked. Fuck Gennady by the way, a fucking bastard and a fucking insane bitch.”

Triss rose from the floor, leaving the book and started counting with her fingers, “It seems like an eighty per cent chance of dying, that’s for sure. Not to mention carving all the runes correctly into two people and getting the ingredients and making the potion and doing it on Summer solstice when there’s a party we are forced to attend here and getting Tissaia inside the vault without being seen, since we can’t portal in and getting chaos, that’s apparently sentient too, to agree.”

“You forgot the part were in a week and a half Tissaia might already be insane, so it might not even work.” Added the blonde.

“Unless…” Disputed Yennefer.

“Gods save us all, here we go.” The two sets of glares were lovingly received, as Sabrina stuck her tongue out like a child.

“Unless we get Tissaia out of here today and we expose her to the minimum amount of magic for the next week and a half, no more magically induced sleep, we drug her with Valerian,” She licked her chapped lips, pausing for a second.

Clasping her hands behind her back, the sorceress continued, “And honestly, I mean, Aretuza’s every corner is fucking reeking with chaos, so that buys us some time. I have a house in Rinde we can use, I tricked the mayor into ceding me the ownership.”

“A few days before the party you two tell everyone how we’re still fucked up from Sodden and start to act like it, tell them I’m especially so since I will have to leave with her and you two excuse yourselves after half an hour of polite chatter,” Yennefer’s lips twisted, a half-smile gracing them.

“That day the guards won’t be here, so I portal us in, landing in front of the door, the next morning everybody will be too pissed to even check and you return us to her chambers.” She leaned forward to make sure they really were listening.

“This dagger is made of rhodium, I checked and for fuck’s sake, you two blind wankers, the ingredients are right in front of us, they’re even labelled.” Yennefer chided, rolling her eyes in an affectional manner.

The mage pressed the pendant to the glass and it refused to open, “Well, fuck me, I suppose that’s what Stregobor’s ring opens apart from the door. You two have to steal it… Doing just that won’t do, we have to kill him, don’t give me that look, we want to and he’s a major liability to the war.”

Her violet eyes narrowed, “The Chapter can elect someone to fill his place easily enough, he’s like a millennia-old so it won’t make noise at all for him to pass on. We use that poison we found five days ago and replace his ring with one that slows it down, it will be powerful enough to pass as the original and he’s been in previously undiscovered Elven ruins as of late so there’s a cover there too.” She turned to look at them, maintaining eye contact.

Sabrina interrupted, concerned, “Yen, you read the same thing as us, are you absolutely sure?”

“I love you, Yenna, I really do, but all of this won’t be worth it if you do not truly understand what your choice really means.” Triss added.

“I would choose Tissaia every day of my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I do not know what fluff is, that bitch? I've never heard of her, I've never understood her.


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Okay, so you got 3 chapters of fluff (kinda) and I can finally go back to writing my true calling, angst.
> 
> I hope you all are staying safe!

_VII._

Moving Tissaia to her house in Rinde was the first thing they did after leaving the vault. It was easy, like moving a doll around, a small one at that and soon the two of them were left alone by her two friends, who assured her they had enough food and Valerian for the next week and a half if Yennefer kept it in stasis.

Unmoved when she threatened them about unexpected visits and portalling in too close for the energy to reach the brunette, “For fuck’s sake, can’t you calm down, for like, five minutes?” Had complained Sabrina.

“It’s quite vexing, honestly.” She had never before been betrayed by Triss.

They were right, she needed to relax, her head threatened to explode every two hours.

The last time she had been here was when the offer to go back to Aretuza was extended. Gods she had been so cruel to her. For a long moment it had been like her reasoning had been sleeping, Yennefer saw herself doing it, relishing in the hurt she was causing and still, the mage couldn’t find it within herself to stop until it was too late.

And then witcher had arrived at night, walking through the orgy like a rogue and contrite Prince ready to turn her whole world upside down. Jaskier had been there too, dying in one of the guest rooms until she cured him and perhaps she should have let him go six feet under, for he was an annoying little bitch. His songs weren’t even that catchy, save for _‘Toss a coin to your witcher’_. 

Many years had passed since and then some after Yennefer left him when the golden dragon told them the truth of things, that she’d never find a cure and that he’d already lost her, betraying her trust by never telling her about his third wish. Those two things had hurt so much she had spent the following month entertaining herself by manipulating the minds of peasants and getting high when she was about to snap.

On a winter day, just as she had stopped wallowing in the misery of her own making, she had clearly felt as the love she harboured from him disappeared from her chest into thin air. He had found the djinn and asked him to reverse that mistake, it was clear.

A part of her had mourned for what could have been if they had been content living a lie, whilst another part of her was relieved that she now had the chance of finding something genuine without his ghost following her.

Yennefer had learned to forgive him, he had just been protecting her, not that she needed it, but men were like that and now if she saw Geralt again, she’d be open to being friends.

She took the small bottle with the extract of Valerian before easing it down Tissaia’s elegant throat, massaging it with two fingers so she wouldn’t choke and waiting until her breathing was calm enough that she could leave her for an hour without anything happening.

Then she took off her dirty nightgown and filled the tub. The water was warm and it soothed the pain in her muscles that had been born of her pig-headedness, unwilling to leave her side, even if it meant that most of the time Yennefer got her sleep on a chair.

Sabrina had teased her to no end until she was the one bound to one at night by magical bonds, also gagged for good measure and Triss didn’t intervene, probably because she was tired of their bullshit and wanted to let them both suffer. A closeted sadist was what that the brunette was.

Yennefer wouldn’t lie, yes, in her exhaustion she almost drowned twice, even so, nothing major had happened and afterwards she put on a pretty thing made of satin. It was light, it reached her ankles and also covered her arms, not really her style since she favoured the more risqué part of fashion but it would have to do, she was too tired to look through the drawers for one that enhanced her assets.

When she was about to leave the room Tissaia whimpered rather loudly, already she could hear the trashing and the moaning beginning, so one of the very bad nights then. For fuck’s sake, after this she was going to hide from the world in a peaceful beach for at least half a year.

The mage considered sleeping on a chair, yet that idea quickly was tossed into the sewer, this was her house and her back was already acting as old as Yennefer truly was, so as long as they stayed here, they would have to share.

Nimble fingers lifted the covers and the sheets and she doubled the amount of pillows with magic, building a wall between her and Tissaia, lest it ended with the brunette deciding she made for the perfect training dummy on which to unload her unconscious anger. Finally, with that done she laid down, letting sleep claim her fatigued body and her treacherous mind.

╶

Sunlight illuminated her face, making her wake up and Yennefer was next to her, black hair a mess, with bags under her eyes and in her cheek there was a massive bruise that was steadily turning blue, she had probably annoyed Sabrina a little too much while she was busy being asleep.

Violet eyes stared at the wall with such devotion it just might hold all the answers they needed, as she sipped on what smelled like very strong coffee. Tissaia’s mouth watered without her consent, what she wouldn’t give for a taste of that.

Meticulously she arranged the pillows so she could sit and when the Arch-mistress was finished with it after a few minutes the other woman still hadn’t moved or acknowledged her, so she stared at her, one eyebrow raised, hoping to make her uncomfortable enough to return to reality.

Yennefer looked like she’d been through hell.

...And it didn’t work.

She ran her hand through the sheets that covered her, realising that they were no longer in her room; the mattress underneath her was too cheap to ever hope to compare, everything that littered this room was somehow out of place and the need to make it right crept up into Tissaia with as much force as the parasite she already housed in her being.

“Where are we?” She asked, needing a distraction from working herself into a frenzy for a room she couldn’t fix in her weakened state.

“Rinde.” Her voice was an annoyed thing, much like she too felt and if Tissaia could, she’d tell Destiny off, she had grown tired of the antics. Narrowing her blue eyes, she hissed, “You have to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was, but the Chapter was getting nosy and we couldn’t stay, they are already jumpy around me for burning the Nilfgaardian army.” There was a monotony to her voice that could only be born of dealing with idiots for too long and as a teacher, she understood.

“Cretins, the lot of them, especially Stregobor. You look dreadful, by the way.” Tissaia wanted her feisty attitude back, as masochistic and self-destructive as she was.

If she didn’t take the bite in the next moments, she might just continue what Sabrina started or scream and whine like an infant. Yennefer’s hands tightened around the mug, her tone a bitter thing, “Why, thank you, you look fucking worse.”

Tissaia rubbed her eyes, “That’s probably true.” She conceded because she knew she must look like someone threw her off a cliff and then sent her off to be Stregobor’s nanny for the week.

“I am hungry.” Yennefer waved her hand in her general direction, not looking at her, which meant her patience was wearing thin.

In the table next to her side was an arrangement of various fruits and cheeses, along with two boiled eggs and what looked like apple juice. It would have been lovely, were she not looking for a fight, “I don’t want that, get me something else, I don’t eat the same as the rabble.” Tissaia could swear one of her eyes twitched, ah, finally, victory.

The raven-haired mage opened and closed her mouth so many times in the next five minutes she was sure she’d infuriated her into developing a nervous tick and inwardly, she smirked as the display continued.

Yennefer’s face turned into an ugly frown, with such an anger behind it, that it would probably get her premature wrinkles and after that, it turned into glaring at her in a way that would have made one of her older students’ cry. It didn’t affect her, it merely amused her, because the Ice Queen was the one that made children weep many times a week and her purple eyes couldn’t intimidate her.

When Tissaia was satisfied the brunette let out the laugh she had been holding back since the start, she reckoned it sounded throughout the entire house, but she hadn’t been this free in ages and it felt good to let go of her carefully crafted persona for even a second.

She moved the silver tray to her lap and began to eat, cutting the things she was supposed to consume with her hands into tiny pieces, picking them up with her fork instead of her fingers and ingested the goods at last.

The mage crossed her arms as a precaution because at the moment strangling the Arch-mistress sounded like the best thing in the world, but then again, hearing her laugh was the most beautiful sound Yennefer had ever heard, “You know what? Fuck you.” She spoke.

The sorceress smiled with unnaturally white teeth at her and continued to eat until there was nothing left, placing the objects back from where she took them, exactly as they had been because Tissaia was obsessive like that.

Something went wrong, though, her hand shot to her chest and her eyes closed. Her lungs felt like they were being torn apart, the pain was so sharp she couldn’t do anything except freeze, as she retched until her throat burned. It took all of her strength not to succumb to her need to vomit and she was granted a small mercy, for she didn’t.

The days had passed and the damage has progressed, Yennefer had seen Tissaia loose more and more in her slumber, though quite how much she had never been able to tell. The brunette was protecting them even now or perhaps the idea of looking vulnerable was too wretched to her, Gods only knew how she fuelled the energy needed to keep her mask in place.

It didn’t matter, the raven-haired sorceress cared, no matter how she pushed her away, she just needed for her to stop it because when she finally shattered, the pieces of her brokenness would be too many for them two fit into a sole pair of hands and prideful as she was she may not allow her to take some into her own.

The organs in which the dimetirium resided were being dissolved into a pulp inside her and she could do nothing but wait until they weren’t functional anymore and the torture she was going through ended.

A foolish part of the Rectoress hoped she could die without succumbing to insanity, nonetheless, she knew in her bones just how unlikely that was. So Tissaia locked her feelings and her hope back into their designated box.

There was nothing she could do, no offer she could make, so she instead she helped the older woman recline, putting her head on her lap as they waited for the pain to subside, keeping her hair out of her face with gentle motions. She held her as the fit of coughs overpowered her and the way she moved became too aggressive, the linen was quickly covered in blood. Her face stoic as ever when she was done.

Yennefer was about to offer her the Valerian extract when her marred and tired throat managed to whisper; “No, I’m going to die very soon, but today, just for today, I want to be awake, I want to say goodbye to everything I’m leaving behind.”

Hearing those words come out of her mouth was like someone was stabbing her heart and she stood up from the bed and left for the parlour, where the energy wouldn’t be able to touch her. Conjuring a wheelchair and ramps for it next to the stairs, it turned out to be the prettiest and most comfortable one the sorceress could manage and on any other circumstances, she may have smiled at the craftsmanship.

When she entered the room with it, she expected to have blue eyes glaring daggers at her and sharp barbs thrown her way, still, Tissaia was nothing if accepting of her reality this day and without thinking it possible that broke her more.

One can always break more; she had come to learn.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she said, “What do you want to do?”

“I want to see the garden and paint.” Tissaia explained, cleaning the remaining crimson off her mouth with her arm. She nodded, forcing on her a jumper.

It was a struggle to help the Arch-mistress on the chair without causing her any distress but they managed, covering her with a quilt for good measure because from the look of things it may be chilly outside and she was drenched in sweat from the attack.

The brunette woman stayed alone while the other ransacked the mayor’s office for the supplies she had discovered long ago the man to have, a secret hobby of sorts, when he wasn’t harassing his charges, of course.

The scenery was gorgeous and vibrant, full of life, unlike her. She had been losing everything little by little and it hurt more that way than if it had been snatched from her all at once and the Rectoress hated Fringilla for that, because the dimetirium had been aimed at her person and who she used to be and she’d rather rot, be tortured in a filthy dungeon than endure more of this.

In the distance Tissaia could hear a river, tulips and lilies adorned the place, the greenery neatly trimmed, a nice contrast against the dark blue walls and the house’s ornate balconies. It reminded her of her own home, the one she left so long ago to rarely return to. Her family’s estate was too big and lavish to compare, though, with ivory floors, majestic chandeliers and finely crafted ornaments but they were both equally gorgeous in her eyes.

If death had been good at anything it was forcing her to remember things she had kept locked inside for too long and while they didn’t hurt per se, some of them still ached. When she was about to fall down further down the hole that were her memories Yennefer returned and set up a canvas, put some oil paints in the designated space, along with differently sized brushes and two pieces of graphite so she could make the sketch.

There was a book in her hands and both of them started, staying in companionable silence for what felt like many hours until the sun was not as harsh and her hunger told her it may be time for some lunch, yet she ignored it, never had the brunette liked being told what to do, even by her own body, “Whose house is that?”

Tissaia had been too invested on letting go through art to notice it was the De Vries’ manor that was plastered on the canvas, “My childhood home.”

“It’s too grand, were you a noble?” Yennefer said, unable to sit straight with the anticipation her answer created.

She exhaled long and loud, her face flushing a little, still, she knew the other mage would never let it go. At least Tissaia had less than a week to reach madness, another one to die, “A Viscountess, yes.”

The woman laughed, high pitched and sarcastic, rolling her eyes after, “Explains almost everything about you.”

With her pale chin jutted, her jaw clenched and the brush in her fingers about to break, the Arch-mistress spat, “It’s not as lovely as they’ve led you to believe.” She knew all the lies that existed about this and what went on behind closed doors had to be fixed with makeup too often.

“Sounds pretty nice to me.” Yennefer objected, her gaze back on the book in her lap.

Rubbing her eyes and longing for her pipe, the Rectoress explained as best as her limited patience allowed her, “You know nothing but fine things, that’s true, yet you either don’t see your family or they’re nothing more than cruel, calculating barbarians and that’s before you have to deal with betrothals.”

Her unoccupied, olive hand went to her own, squeezing a little too strongly and a moment too long, her voice in a dangerous tone, “Tell me they didn’t sell you.”

“He was a Duke, far above my station... I suppose he thought me too pretty to pass on. My parents were thrilled, though and still, I’ve never met a more sadistic and twisted motherfucker.” Tissaia stared into space, as she tried to regain her composure.

“I might just invent time travel and kill them all myself.” It was a hissed threat, poison dripping from her tongue.

The Arch-mistress chuckled, her lips twisted into a sneer and her blue eyes unbelievably cruel, “It’s far too late for that, I did it myself in my conduit moment; the day before the wedding, I burned everyone and everything down with lightning.”

The mage leaned forward in her chair and pointed out, “I’d offer my condolences but you don’t seem to regret it.”

“I’m not sorry, I will never be.” It was a truth Tissaia had learned to not be ashamed of.

“Good.” Yennefer stated.

Something about her made her tongue loose but it didn’t matter, it was too late to calculate all the ways she could hurt her with this newfound information. It was not that the brunette didn’t trust her, it was that her emotions were always too raw and before she could stop herself the raven-haired mage had already punced on her victims.

They continued what they were doing until the sun was about to set. Both of them had not eaten, nonetheless, for once they didn’t care, the ill woman had enjoyed herself too much all day doing the menial things she had always wanted to find time for and under the careful watch of her spirited caretaker, there was nothing Tissaia needed to fear as long as it concerned her declining health.

But of course, her companion wanted to talk some more and ask questions that shouldn’t really interest her, nevertheless, she indulged her curiosity, for once. Not because the Arch-mistress couldn’t have been as happy today without her, no, because Tissaia owed Yennefer answers before death took her.

“How will the Chapter elect a new member? When you’re gone?” What she truly wanted to ask was what would happen after they murdered Stregobor, but she wouldn’t get the information by confessing to that.

“They will make a list of five people who are powerful enough to be a member, four candidates are nominated by their mentors or sponsors and the other one is chosen by sheer merit.” The Rectoress enunciated her words by moving the dirty brush.

Tissaia paused for a minute before continuing, “A debate of who amongst them needs to be restrained the most and how likely it will be that they’ll be able to set that person straight will follow. They will choose from there.”

“You are telling me the fucking almighty Chapter is made of twats who need to be kept in check by equally stupid people?! Moronic idiots that rule over the sodding Brotherhood?! That’s bullshit!” It was the most outrageous thing she had heard in her whole life and she would leak the information Continent-wide if it didn’t clash with her plans.

“Language, Yennefer.” Tissaia didn’t really mean it, it was as unwise as it sounded, but that was the way the Chapter had always worked and no matter how hard she had always tried to change it she had never been successful.

╌

Night fell and they took supper in the bedroom after the violet-eyed woman righted the house and the garden. When they were done with the food, she gave the Arch-mistress a clean nightgown, leaving for the bathroom to change into hers. After the day she had the fabric was heavy in her dainty hands, still, the brunette refused to ask for help, even when it took her a good five minutes to take the dirty one-off and put the clean one on.

Half an hour later, in which Yennefer insisted on brushing her hair, both of them were finally ready to go to sleep. The candles were blown out and she was joined by the mage in bed, the herbal extract forgotten since she wouldn’t need it to fall asleep.

Yennefer couldn’t really see her face, make out her features, still, she whispered, “What would you do? If you had more time?” Her blue eyes opened and they shined even in the dark.

Tissaia’s voice was tense, she spoke curtly and carefully, which that told her companion that she wanted revenge, “I would find a way to kill Fringilla and the Emperor, as fast as possible.”

“Other than that?” The sorceress queried, hoping will her whole being she would answer.

“Get Stregobor high in a Chapter meeting for the sake of it.” And punch him, if she could.

The violet-eyed woman scoffed, “How mature.”

The Arch-mistress turned on her back, looking at the ceiling, because being honest about herself with others was not something she had ever been good at, “I’d step down from teaching for a while, go somewhere nice and paint some more, maybe try to have a garden.” A sigh left her as she played with the fabric of her clothing, “Get myself a cat.”

“Could you? I mean you are Rectoress.” There was a wide smirk on her face since the other professors would most likely go mad without her.

“I saw my Rectoress one to three times per week in all the years I spent as a student. Of course, I could.” Tissaia spoke that word without meaning herself and it was strange, it felt wrong, alas, the way she did so made the younger mage understand that whoever that woman was, the brunette hadn’t respected her.

“Then why are you so involved?” Not just involved, every homework passed through her and the Arch-mistress even supervised classes she didn’t give, standing in the back glaring at the person explaining magic to them, more often than not.

“I don’t trust most of the staff to knock sense into so many thick teenage skulls.” Tissaia didn’t consider herself an impulsive person, yet sometimes they managed to anger her so much she had to stop herself from throwing a heavy book at their arrogant faces or getting them, “I also struggle with letting go of control, however, anyone with half a brain already knows that.”

“What would you paint?” Yennefer asked.

The blue-eyed woman turned to look at her, trying to make out if this was a trap, “Pretty things, I’m tired of monsters.”

“Like me?” She teased, moving her eyebrows up and down teasingly.

“Yes, only if you could stand to sit still for more than an hour, though, so I could get the sketch done.” The brunette laughed, mimicking her actions.

“Nevertheless, it won’t happen and talking about hope when my demise was brought on by dimetirium is a waste of time.” Reality caught up with her and it eclipsed the joy she had felt.

“Dreams are not a waste of time.” For the first time in many years, Yennefer's voice was but a faint whisper.

Had they warned her about this talk, Tissaia would have never believed she’d open up like this, “I haven’t had those for a long while.”

“You deserve them, more than anyone I know.” A plea in her tone, like she really believed she could give back everything she had lost if she tried hard enough.

“Goodnight, Yennefer.”

“Goodnight, Tissaia.”


	8. VIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Se y'all on Monday, remember chapter nine is the ritual (part 1), so be on the look out!!

_VIII._

Sabrina and Triss tried to poison him and change the ring for a week before calling Yennefer. Who would lecture them about how they couldn’t take something as small as a ring from someone as idiotic as Stregobor and just drop the poison in his food or his wine, nevertheless, the problem wasn’t taking it from him or drugging him, it was that he was rarely alone and they could only try to lure him in so many times before he got suspicious.

There was also the matter of time because they were running out of it, with two nights until the day of the ball. Aretuza was already being prepared for the solstice, the halls decorated, the members of the Brotherhood accommodated in their temporary rooms and the kitchen staff yelling to one another incessantly because their pupils were too foolish.

It was tonight or never, if they wanted the potion to be complete for the ritual.

_“We’ve got a problem… a significant one, as big as my boobs, actually.”_

_“What did you idiots do?”_

_“More like what we didn’t do, Yenna.”_

_“Don’t tell me…”_

_“It’s probably what you’re thinking, Yen.”_

_“It is what you’re thinking.”_

_“I’ll see you after supper, in our quarters. Do at least act injured for the masses.”_

And they did, masterfully, for Tissaia had taught them well; little comments here and there, sharp intakes of breath as they moved sluggishly. Refusing to eat because they were too weak to keep it in. Their skins tinted a little yellow, their frames skinny as they finally dropped their illusions for the first time since Sodden, (Triss and Sabrina didn’t dwell on how most of it wasn’t just their acting prowess) and everyone saw that they were so fucked up that the four actually insisted on them not attending the ball.

No one even asked if Yennefer was the same, the account of what she had done that day had spread like wildfire and it was all the Brotherhood could talk about. A dangerous act that had left even more deadly consequences.

Her hatred for the institution was widely known, the violet-eyed mage was very vocal about it and had only been kept safe from reprimands by how the only female member of the Chapter had painted her as nothing but a wilful girl, a woman that couldn’t stand against them in a significant manner.

The rest of the members did not appreciate being lied to and their fear of the sorceress was only growing.

After putting a tracking spell on the oldest sorcerer alive they had learned just how many times he had brought the issue up with the other three that remained. So far it hadn’t gone further than innuendos, as far as they knew, for their losses had been too great and now he was an outed coward. No matter, his reputation would recover soon enough, as men’s were wont to do, never judged as harshly as women.

Yennefer had been right, they had to end him before he went after all of them. The two friends had also discovered he had a particular obsession with the Rectoress, which didn’t sit well with them at all. Since he had come back, he had been pestering them all the time about her whereabouts and her health, the prick even testing their mental defences when he grew tired of hearing the same answers.

It was a simple thing, really, to kill or to be killed and they had made their choice.

Before retiring for Rinde the raven-haired woman had left them the pendant so they could start with the poison as soon as possible, however, Triss, with her allergies, had only managed to get halfway through mixing the ingredients before her cheeks threatened to bloat, so, Sabrina had done the rest, obtaining a liquid with the same colour and consistency depicted in the book.

They always carried with them the crystal vial, leaving the rest in their room, at the very bottom of the chests where they guarded their valuables. Newly crafted and protected with blood wards, a third one awaiting Yennefer for when she came back to Aretuza. Both mages going to such extreme measures because they felt somewhat paranoid after the enchantment on Stregobor gave them an insight they hadn’t had before.

A portal opened in the middle of the room and they anxiously waited for their friend to step through it.

The sorceress was dressed in a red cotton shirt, high waisted, black riding trousers, with heeled, leather boots covering on feet and her raven tresses were twisted into a bun, finally, Tissaia’s rhodium dagger on a holster at her hip and since they couldn’t quite make out the form of it, it seemed to be disillusioned. Dusting herself off as the void behind her disappeared, she asked, “How are things here?”

“Bad, the Chapter has had three private meetings and two public ones since Stregobor arrived, he’s been trying to convince everyone that you’re more of a threat than Fringilla for using fire magic and that you need to be neutralized.” Sabrina sat at the edge of her bed, seething.

“Some can’t even look us in the eye.” She ran her hands through her blonde hair, frowning and sighing, “On the other hand, we’ve been cleared from attending the ball.”

“He’s also been asking us way too much about Tissaia, he seems to be obsessed with finding her. He wants the pendant.” The brunette added, leaning back against the wall, her arms crossed.

Yennefer’s face flushed, her violet eyes turning violent and her teeth baring, “Over my dead body.”

“Mine, too. I’m too pretty to die this young, though.” The green-eyed woman huffed, tugging at the collar of her dress.

“How is she, by the way?” Triss’ gentle voice came, equally as upset as her friends, a surprising amount of chaos at her fingertips.

The sorceress didn't look at neither of them, because she couldn’t bear to say the truth out loud that way, “Fading, rapidly so, the first day she was good, exceptionally good, but now... now she doesn’t even want to eat or drink anymore."

“Every morning there’s a pool of blood in the sheets. She’s as pale as a ghost. In the rare instance that she wakes, she’s catatonic and if she’s not, she doesn’t know who I am or who she is.” Yennefer had prayed for the first time since she lived in the pigpen the first time it happened, had begged the Godson her knees for just a few more days.

“That’s all we need to know. Let’s get you ready to go out then, not that you need much work.” Concluded Sabrina.

They sat her in the vanity and the woman that stared back at Yennefer looked like a war prisoner. The skin under her eyes almost black, the bruise Tissaia had given her an angry purple, her cheekbones sharper than before, her gaze so troubled she might have lived a thousand lifetimes. Turning her head as the brush painted her jaw yellow, she held onto the cloth of her pants with a white knuckled grip.

The brown-eyed mage, who couldn’t bear to look at them anymore, instead left to retrieve the chest they had fathomed for her, placing it in front of her sister, in the vanity, “This is for you.”

“Thank you.” She said in affectionate and tender manner.

Yennefer was running her hands over the wood when she finally mustered the required courage to tell them what to do in case their efforts went to waste, “We need to talk about what you’ll need to do if the ritual fails.”

“The best place to hide the ring and the necklace will be in plain view; you will leave them behind in the vault. There's no way to open it if they keys are behind closed doors, it’s as good as destroying them.” She looked at her hands as the words left her mouth, trying her best turn herself into an icy thing.

“Stregobor will still die, thank fuck for that, but with two members of the Chapter gone, they will choose sides.” Holding her breath for a second, the woman added, “Flee to Rinde, these last days I’ve warded the land with a book I smuggled out from Tissaia’s personal collection, you are the only ones that will be able to see the house or enter it.”

“The mayor created tunnels that go to the docks and the market, so no one will be able to follow you back.” She refused to acknowledge how Sabrina’s free hand went to her chest, her expression pained, “We’ve done all we can; I know you, you don’t want to die for this, so don’t.”

“I regret putting this burden on your shoulders, sweet thing, still, you will need to take our bodies and mutate them into looking like we do now.” She refused to acknowledge how Triss was sniffling, how hot were leaving her eyes at the all too real possibility.

“Like shit?” Asked the blonde sarcastically, bitterly.

“Like shit.” Yennefer agreed.

“We love you.” Her green eyes were fragile, glassy and her voice was quivering.

“So much.” Added her brown-eyed sibling.

“You’re my sisters...”

Words have a tendency to not be enough when one is trying to say goodbye.

╶

There really wasn’t a plan, so they just followed Yennefer’s lead after leaving their room and prepared themselves to improvise, the spell told them he was currently alone in his quarters, so for once, it seemed like Destiny had chosen to not be a bitch.

The exceedingly rotten state of the mage did draw attention to them as they made their way to his quarters, but most people just walked away or distanced themselves as much as possible, like she was carrying an infection.

When they arrived at his doors, they saw a snake was carved into the wood, for it was his sigil. Fitting.

The raven-haired woman steeled herself, her fingers hovering over the dagger for a second before making a fist and looking at the other two briefly, she knocked on the ebony with as much force as she could muster. It didn’t last, because by the second knock the door had already opened to show Stregobor resting in a chair in front of the fire with a goblet of wine in his heavily ringed hands.

He didn’t look like he always did, there was a strength to his posture that should have belonged to a young wizard, a poise that would be befitting of a King and not the most mocked member of the Chapter.

Then they felt it, how the moment Triss had silently closed the door complex wards surrounded the exit. He had planned for this; he wouldn’t let them out.

“I’ve been expecting you for a while now.” Stregobor was smirking, taking a sip of the red liquor before turning his bored gaze on them, “You should have tried something subtler than a tracking spell, though.”

“Have you?” Yennefer clenched her jaw and pointed her finger at him, egotism and daring were the first reactions she could muster, too surprised for anything else, “Or are you just trying to pretend you’re not being cornered by women?”

Stregobor chuckled, his amusement palpable in the air, it was like this was the most stupid thing he had ever heard, “Such cheek, towards a member of the Chapter no less. You’re on thin ice little lady, especially since the Rectoress’ untimely demise.”

“What could you possibly know about what happened to her?” Her mask went on in a moment’s notice and the raven-haired woman hoped it betrayed nothing.

“I can’t confirm it, the destruction you left behind was too great.” He stood up, his large frame made intimidating by the glow from the fire, blue eyes twinkling with malice, vindictiveness and bloodlust, like she had wronged him like no other had before, “I do believe you killed her in your outburst and have been trying to come up with a good enough story to fool us with. You are no idiot, just headstrong, she was the only person keeping you and your friends safe from me.”

“Now that she’s gone, well… I have many fitting punishments in mind, but I am a reasonable man, you can give me her pendant and beg for mercy.” They had never before thought him anything else than a mad old fool, how wrong they had been, it was a ruse to make people believe he wasn’t _this_ dangerous, “Maybe I’ll convince the Chapter to only banish you for the involuntary murder of Tissaia De Vries.”

He turned his back to them and snapped his fingers; the blonde’s hand went to her throat and the brunette leaned against the door. The sorcerer was murdering them. She tried to do something, anything, nonetheless, the raven-haired woman was tied up, only able to move her neck, “You don’t have much of a choice and I have grown impatient with age, the clock is ticking, Yennefer of Vengerberg, you have three minutes at most.”

The young woman bit her lip so hard she drew blood, wide eyes scanning her surroundings for any advantage, her chaos trying to find a way to liberate herself, unsuccessful since he was too strong. Her gaze went to her siblings, they too were trying and failing to fight him, their limbs going blue from the lack of oxygen and she felt how they were fading, their energy turning into a small thing.

“Alright! Stop, stop, _stop!_ Let me out of the bonds, I will give it to you, I have the necklace here!” The violet-eyed woman pleaded, her friends were already turning pale. Gods willing he’d be arrogant enough to take the bait.

“Dear girl, you’ve underestimated me once again.” The wizard tilted his head, crossing the room in large, powerful strides and harshly pulling the silver chain from her, leaving red, raw skin where it had been. Two pairs of eyes went bloodshot then, “Say goodbye to your sisters while you still can.”

Both of them collapsed to the floor, with Sabrina bleeding from her ears and Triss bleeding from her mouth and the sorceress struggled harder against the bonds, her unprotected skin burning in the process, like they were made of rope. Their bodies stilled, unmoving and she unable to tell from if their chests continued to rise and fall in coordination with their breathing.

Something in Yennefer broke, _“NO!”_ She screamed, a burst of energy so powerful leaving her than they were all sent flying towards the walls. The wood of the furniture cracked and the chimney broken in two.

For a few minutes, everything was silent as she worked on focusing, almost all of her chaos spent in that single action, her body making her feel like a ragdoll. The raven-haired sorceress crawled to where her siblings were, shaking them and smiling tiredly when they gasped their way back to the world of the living.

“Shit, did you kill him?” The blonde was the first to recover, taking big mouthfuls of air.

The brunette dusted herself off and went to check on him, walking with wobbly legs, “He’s breathing.”

“Wipe his mind, Triss, we don’t have much time, this room might not be soundproofed.” Her friend nodded her head, anxiety making it hard to regain her stolen strength.

Sabrina took from her pocket the vial, standing up gracelessly, “I’ll poison him, I didn’t think I could hate him more, but he’s proven me wrong.” In her high she steeped on a candelabra and as she tried to not fall the container flew from her hands, shattering against the stone.

The two other women saw it happen, weakened enough that they couldn’t stop it. The blonde was the one that took action first, punching the wall whilst letting out an enraged scream, her knuckles coming back bloody. Still, she replaced the ring after her outburst.

Not one of them fancied counting all that had gone to the gutter with that single mistake, instead they let terror and dread fill them. Dear Gods, this had been their only chance at poisoning him, getting this close again would take months.

“How can his shields be this strong? He’s knocked out!” Triss was beginning to succumb to anarchy, hysterical as she tried and tried, unable to get past them even with the help of the green-eyed woman, “We’re screwed!”

They all heard it, yet only the blonde voiced it, “The door, Yen!”

“Fuck!” She took the dagger from the holster and threw it, making a wide arc with her arm, the weapon flying to perfectly hit its victim in the middle of their foreheads. A gloved palm stopped the blade inches away from killing her, “I am getting tired of being greeted like that, child.”

“When did you learn that?” Sabrina’s voice was awed and her response was instantaneous, “I had a lot of free time and pent-up anger.”

“Stop appearing out of the blue in stressful situations, Coral!” Yennefer hissed at the redhead, head in her hands.

Her red eyebrow was raised in annoyance, “Shall I go?”

“…No.” Her ego had been hurt a lot that day.

“What a mess it is you’ve made, now run along, I shall manipulate his memories and deal with the aftermath.” Coral waved her hand dismissively at them, poking certain things and clearing the way with her cane.

They didn’t need to be told twice, opening the door with a yank and walking as quickly as they could back to their chambers.

Their dishevelled state earned them curious looks, but asking murderous looking women who were clearly angry, they why of it, would only be done by a person with a death wish and after Sodden the members of the Brotherhood had realised they wanted to live, so they left them alone.

They couldn’t stay the night in Aretuza after this, if only for their own sanity, so with a coordination born of familiarity, they grabbed the things the deemed as necessary for their comfort and the ones they were not willing to leave behind.

Sabrina was the one that actually managed to open a portal and they walked through it into the parlour.

Back in Rinde, they put both valuable objects in Triss’ chest for the remainder of the night and she sealed it, pricking her finger with her earring. The other two flopped down on the couches, trying to calm their errant heartbeats and stop themselves from hyperventilating, the brunette laying down on the carpeted floor, “I want to be like her when I grow up.” The blonde woman said, her tone honest.

She couldn’t deal with more bullshit that same day and her gentle voice turned vicious for once, “Fuck- _off!_ ”

“I have to check on Tissaia, take any guest room you like.” Sabrina was about to protest when Triss mouthed _’Don’t,’_ and the two of them reluctantly let her go.

╶

When she entered the room, she found the petite mage still fast asleep and any other day it would have been good, yet with time running out and her condition worsening this fast despite being shielded from magical energy as much as possible, it was only another weight to add to her shoulders.

Lately, it felt like every word that wasn’t just right or every facial expression that was too true would bring everything she was trying to protect to its knees, so much hard work for nothing. Perhaps this was how being the Rectoress felt, if so, Yennefer couldn’t admire her more for it, because when the sky darkened, she had half a mind to drink herself sick and into oblivion, every day.

Too much had gone wrong today, she had underestimated the threat Stregobor truly was, the sorceress had chosen not to listen, once again, when being warned. She had thought Coral to be exaggerating and tonight she had proven her wrong, appearing like a fairy godmother when they needed saving.

In madness, there’s a rare type of clarity.

She could’ve excused herself, saying that it was merely a habit too hard to break, but she had almost gotten Triss and Sabrina killed, so she could do nothing to deny the truth, to mitigate the shame of almost singlehandedly guiding them into a merciless slaughter. They would never dare say it, they cared too much for her for the words to leave their lips, however, they all knew that all of this had been Yennefer’s fault.

The petite sorceress fell from the bed, her wrist taking the most significant hit, landing with a _‘thud’_ , whilst she screamed, “SHE’S BLEEDING! STOP IT!” Her blue eyes were wild, moving from side to side too fast and if the Arch-mistress was searching for someone or for a way out, she couldn’t tell but it was obvious how frightened she was of the person that had made the woman bleed in her dreams.

She tried to come near her and that just made her recoil into the corner, like she had a reason to be afraid of her. Gone was the strong, unshakable Rectoress. She wanted to clench her fists, to do something with her anger, chaos begging her to, still, that would only scare her more and it would also escalate the situation, so she forced herself to relax, “Tissaia.”

Once again, she tried to approach her.

The mage shielded her face with her marred hands and hollered, “GET AWAY FROM ME!” Her tone was frantic, her breathing quickening, she would probably hyperventilate before the younger woman could try to stop it. Thankfully, it didn’t happen and she just let out dry cries, pushing herself further against the wall, trying to blend into it to make herself smaller, invisible.

Yennefer waited until she seemed calmer, crouching and putting her hands in front of her to show she was no threat, “Do you know who I am?” The mage half expected to be attacked, for that had already happened two times before and the brunette was awfully good at trying to claw her violet eyes out.

“I don’t think so.” Tissaia removed her hands from where they were, taking shallow breaths and eyeing her, judging her with all the scorn of a born aristocrat, her eyebrow raised while she was determined if she was talking to a maid or her equal. This was fucking exhausting.

All of Yennefer’s hope went to her saying that she did know who she was, that she was a Viscountess and should be treated as such. It was easier to deal with her just not remembering her, but when she didn’t remember herself or a significant part of her life, namely what happened after her conduit moment, it was all too complicated, “Do you know who you are?”

“….I …I.” She did not, Tissaia only hesitated when she had forgotten everything except the most basic things. Her blue eyes went to her nightgown, trying to take a guess at who she was by the quality of the fabric, which today happened to be silk and then she took between her fingers her long hair. Five hundred years ago, that was a good way to tell the station of a woman, since only the wealthy could afford to stay sufficiently clean to have large locks.

“Can I come near you?” Her voice was tranquil, masking how she truly felt and the answer given was a short nod before the Arch-mistress resumed nibbling on her lower lip, a habit she had when she found herself on a grave situation.

It proved difficult to walk to her whilst crouching at the same time, nevertheless, she was already small, now small and vulnerable meant that her survival instincts would turn the violet-eyed sorceress once again into a monster if Yennefer stood up, “Can I touch your wrist?”

Tissaia extended her hand and the younger woman pressed her finger in and mercifully, got no reaction other than her staring, the cuts in her hand were still closing from her crisis on her bathroom in Aretuza, a little over a week ago. Dealing with a broken wrist would only make things worse and they didn’t need that. Triss would also probably hit her when she opened the door if she went looking for her now, “It’s alright, it won’t even bruise.”

“Do you want to be alone?” In some of her panic attacks she had demanded it, throwing her out of the room as politely as possible and giving her a condescending smile when she closed the door in her nose. The Arch-mistress must have been very different before coming to her beloved school. Nonetheless, right now it seemed prudent to ask, since she was more serene than in her other crisis’s, “No! ...Stay.” 

Offering an her, her olive hand, she took it, her grip too tight now that she knew it wasn’t the enemy who she was with. The violet-eyed mage helped her up and just about when she was about to tuck her in, the other woman grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her down with disconcerting force, “Are they close?” Yennefer landing next to her and the Rectoress took on a fetal position, covering herself with the blankets and the sheets.

The sorceress had a fair idea of who ‘they’ were, her parents, her family, possibly her tutors even, since nobles always had those around because the rich wanted children that wouldn’t embarrass them in public, “No, they’re gone.”

“Will you keep me safe?” Tissaia muttered, extending her hand to touch her and retracting it when their gazes met.

Yennefer rubbed her eyes, trying to not let the extreme contempt she felt at long-dead people show, “I will.” She meant it, she would guard the Arch-mistress from everything, no matter what it was or if she died trying.

Even if she couldn’t remember their history, the brunette seemed to believe her, to want to trust her, “Do you promise?” 

“I do.” The sorceress wondered how dark were her secrets, her past, for it to be able to transform her so. They were beginning to haunt her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Remember folks, the most dangerous people are the ones that don't seem like a threat.


	9. IX.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: The long awaited ritual is finally here, but it had to be split in two, since it was about 8k and I refuse to upload a chapter that long unless it's the fucking epilogue.
> 
> Edit: ao3 (or my internet or my laptop idk man-conspiracy theory timeeeeee-) did this wonky thing where I had to re-upload the chapter because it got deleted... wtf

_IX._

Sneaking to the vault in broad daylight, on the eve of a date where almost all of the Brotherhood occupied Aretuza proved too hard to do without having to change their approach every five minutes, so when they were stopped for polite chatter and gossip they tried to not let it show in their faces how they’d rather be doing anything else.

They couldn’t deny the usefulness of the interruptions, though; rumour was that Stregobor had been attacked by someone powerful enough to make a mess of him and his room, a disaster that would take a lot of time to repair even with magic and no one had any idea why. Even so, in their glances was a weariness, for everyone knew what happened to those stupid few who defied the Chapter and its members so aggressively.

In that moment they were having an urgent meeting, probably panicking about what happened to the ring and where it was. Triss wore it on her pointer finger, masked as something pretty, still, not enough so to warrant any further attention, she had always used too many of those since joining court for a new one to make much noise.

The vault was packed with guards, thirty mages ready to fight the person who wanted access to the room they protected so fiercely, even when they didn’t know what knowledge it was, they were guarding. Their expressions were tense and their hands suspended ever so slightly over the handle of their weapons.

The Chapter had to be incredibly rattled for security to have increased this much.

When the blonde woke up in the morning the ring they had made to mitigate the poison was in the pillow next to her, for whatever reason Sabrina couldn’t fathom, since right now it served no purpose and this just had turned into, _‘We have to scare the Chapter into sending all security members to the weak points of the castle.’_

The brown eyes of her companion lit up and she just hoped it wouldn’t blow up in their faces. After that near-dead experience where they discovered they were on Stregobor’s _‘Most Wanted’_ list, this was their chance to pressure him and the other members into fighting for the greater good, to prove themselves too useful to kill at the very least.

That or make the Chapter dissolve the day after the ball. Hopefully, three hundred judgmental mages would be enough for them to not turn to Fringilla.

Back in their quarters, Triss pulled up from her chest what remained of the blue powder and since she was also wearing the pendant from there they portalled into Tissaia’s office with ease.

The blonde sat in the Rectoress chair and procured quill and ink; Sabrina had learned how to fabricate her penmanship when she had tried to prove to her fellow classmates that she was her favourite and when she was finished the green-eyed sorceress traded places with the brunette. She had learned how to replicate their raven-haired friend’s neat cursive, (not that the mage knew), to have an excuse to leave the tedious and unnecessary meetings King Demetry insisted on having when he had nothing better to do, early.

After lunch the occasion presented itself when they were all called to yet another meeting. It hadn’t even started and already some people were shouting, there was no semblance of order.

Sabrina let the healer take the lead since she was the better actress between the two of them.

_“SILENCE!”_

When the quiet people speak, the world listens.

Chin high and back straight, Triss looked at the four in the eye as she made her way to the centre of the room, all of the attention on her, “I know it has been rumoured that Tissaia De Vries has been laying low, trying to grow a network of spies within the Nilfgaardian court and I can confirm this.”

The brunette didn’t acknowledge the gasps nor the muted whispers, this meeting had the power to change things, to make them see how real and dangerous the knife at their backs was, “While adding that, Yennefer of Vengerberg has been by her side since yesterday.” No one would dare talk about her sister badly after this publicly.

“We received two alarming letters today, just after hearing of the attack of one of the most valued members of the Brotherhood.” Brown eyes met with Stregobor’s blue ones as she threw the parchment on the table. He prodded at her mental defences and she pulled him out harshly, making sure to hurt him.

Her voice was softened, letting pass through her the grief and the fear that had plagued her these past weeks, the pain that Sodden had left in her, everything she was having trouble forgetting and all the names she would never be able to, “This information was obtained at great personal cost by the spies and we owe them our lives for it.”

Triss let the momentum build, bidding her time until they were the most anxious and there was pure silence in the room as they waited for her to continue. A shudder ran through her, her shoulders tensing as she delivered the truth to them, “Fringilla has dimetirium.”

Screams and gasps and even people having trouble staying upright was the response, a better one than what she had expected, “I present you all with the proof of the depths of their corruption!” The sorceress said as she opened the bag which contained the blue powder, grabbing the dirt with gloved hands to parade it as it slipped through her fingers.

The four members of the Chapter all tried their best to hide their terror and their anxiety with varying levels of success, however, Stregobor was the only one that had flawlessly managed to suppress his emotions, the way his hand tightened around his goblet the only tell that he was horrified, “We have underestimated our enemies.” The brunette claimed.

“Hiding from them in the false sense of security Aretuza provides.” Clenching her jaw, she closed her eyes, because she had considered taking that route too before Tissaia had asked for her support, had explained to her what it meant to lose, “And I do not blame you; we have all lived long, we are tired of fighting.”

“Nonetheless, this is a direct threat to us, no longer is it just a petty squabble over mortal lands.” All present mages nodded, many leaning forward to listen better to what she had to say.

“I refuse to let the Brotherhood turn into a book entry.” Triss locked eyes with as many people in the room as she could. Their numbers had never been that good compared to humans, to ordinary people, but they had earned the place they now had through hard work and suffering. They would never forget the price they had paid.

She closed her eyes again because the energy that filled the room needed to guide her words if she wanted them to truly understand what their cowardice could cost them all, how far-reaching the consequences would be, “I refuse to do nothing as they take my home and my magic from me.”

Her gaze went to Sabrina, her green eyes were looking back at her and for the first time in over a decade they were filled with emotion, “I refuse to lose my loved ones.”

“I refuse to die!” A single tear rolled down her left eye, for dramatic effect and with her hand she incinerated the powder, making it nothing but ashes again, unusable, harmless, “DEMETIRIUM MAKES IT _OUR_ WAR!”

Three hundred people expressed their support and agreement in every possible way there was. Triss had done it, she had convinced every member that anyone that stood with Nilfgaard was the enemy, an inhumane, cruel and barbaric beast. Mages were nothing if careful about their reputation, about their legacy.

The Brotherhood of Sorcerers was going to war, as a united front.

And the vault would remain unpatrolled for at least three days as they prepared for battle.

╌ 

With Tissaia levitating next to her and the portal closing, she righted her hair as she took in her surroundings. In her mind there already were ten reasons which all included murder for her friends to be waiting in the entrance to the vault like the owned the place, smiling from ear to ear, “You both look too happy, did Stregobor fall and break his neck?”

“We are all going to war, Yenna.” She didn’t expect that answer, because while she had relearned in the mage’s convalescence to love Aretuza, which was truly the one home she had known, that didn’t mean she liked or trusted the Chapter, especially with what the blue-eyed woman had told her.

“Wait, what? How?” He violet eyes went wide as she tried to picture any scenario where the whole fucking Brotherhood acted like they actually had the bollocks to go to a war where there was dimetirium. None of them were pleasing and most of them involved potions that had been illegal for the last four centuries, “I was only gone for a week and a half!”

“It was Triss, you moron, who else could it have been?” That made sense, the brunette was a gifted actress and very manipulative when she wanted to be, still, the tone Sabrina used irritated her since she had been dealing with a forgetful and gravely ill woman, whilst trying to not have her own sanity crumble.

“Go fuck yourself.” Verbally cursing her friend was the next best thing she could do, other than assaulting her which at the moment that was very tempting to do and Yennefer would have indulged if all of her willpower wasn’t in keeping all her anxieties and dreadful thoughts at bay for the night that awaited them all.

“Some of us can get partners and not rely on our fingers.” When the last word left her mouth, the sorceress crossed her arms, said fingers already tinted orange. The fact that they were siblings meant that she could always hit her where it would hurt the most, in her lonely heart, “Tissaia and you look shittier than two days ago, by the way.”

“What an astute remark, no wonder you were third in class.” The violet-eyed woman said it without any bite. The last comment was probably not meant to highlight the ineptitude she had felt as a caretaker, but it felt like it was, reminding her just how many times she had considered if what she was doing was just making the other woman worse.

“Not all of us have fancy genetics.” Triss inhaled sharply, whatever it was that the green-eyed mage thought she had done since she arrived to enrage her like that, that was still crossing a line and she could notice that her friend closed her eyes as the heat reached her arms, shining brighter.

Yennefer’s whole frame was shaking, her nails pressing harshly on the skin that glowed as she crossed her arms, “Need I remind you how I looked before our ascension?”

“You got it fixed, didn’t you?” As if it had been so easy, as that as if it hadn’t gotten her hated by the villagers and rejected by her father, as if the consequences of her malformed spine didn’t haunt her till this day.

The healer was infuriated and amazed with her nerve, talking about those things like Yennefer hadn’t cried when the pain on her back became torment, sleeping with the first boy that had shown her any semblance of kindness. She walked up to the blonde and pushed her away from them, standing in solidarity next to her sibling, _“How could you?”_

Nothing was said as they entered the vault, the potion was on the last moments before being complete and Triss continued to stir it counter-clockwise, whilst her raven-haired friend lowered Tissaia into a chair and bound her to it with rope, the green-eyed mage lingering somewhere far away from them.

When the timer sounded they knew it was time to begin carving the runes and the violet-eyed mage passed her the dagger, before sitting on another chair, covered by a sheer red robe and instead of doing it herself, the brunette put it on pale hands, “You wanted to hurt her, didn’t you? Here’s your chance for it to be justified.”

Sabrina wouldn’t look at them as she took the handle, making her way to where their sister was. Her violet eyes were opaque and tired, her state a reincarnation of the girl that couldn’t lift her flower. Yennefer looked as ill as Tissaia. She made the first incision to one of her arms and stopped, dropping the blade to the floor, “I can’t, I’m _so_ sorry, Yen...”

Begging to pace, she went on, “Losing you, losing Tissaia, leaving Aretuza, knowing that the probability of that happening is so grand… I’ve never been good at this and I’m angry, I’m _furious_ , because you are risking so much, even aware that it's almost impossible that it will work... but I know that losing her would, will, kill you.”

“I know there’s no way for either of you to go on without the other.” The violet-eyed mage grabbed her by her sleeve and embraced Sabrina, resting her face on the crook of her neck, trying to memorize her sister as she was now. The healer hugging them both from behind, “You are my sister. We were all supposed to grow old together.”

“I love you... I shall always be your sister, Bree.”

╶

There was an ache to her body, it felt like she had been burned in several spots, that, along with her lungs, her hands and the gash in her abdomen made her unable to see straight as someone continued to cut her open. A consistent throbbing and pulsing as new wounds began to bleed, the kiss of the blade never leaving her for more than a few seconds.

She took advantage of the adrenaline rush, blue eyes finally able to focus long enough to make the shadows into figures and the Rectoress could recognize the room, she was inside the vault. The former mage tried to move her limbs, unsuccessful, for she had been tied to a chair with white twine.

The location was troubling and that combined with the cuts, well, she had a fair idea of what those cretins were trying to do.

Her heart beat faster; her mind was fully functional.

The only way Yennefer, Sabrina and Triss would let this happen is if they had been captured by either Stregobor or Fringilla, neither were appealing options. Her greatest concern was what had happened to raven-haired woman, after Sodden she had proven herself a very dangerous enemy, a great asset and an unparalleled ingredient for a ritual.

Gods, she should have killed that man while she had the chance or at least turned him into an eel, so his power didn’t go to waste. The idea of him trapped in a small, slimy body was almost enough to distract her from the new runes.

Doing this would result in an unparalleled weapon, so much so this war was already lost.

Her mouth felt dry, nevertheless, she had not been gagged and she moved her head downwards, only to find familiar curls holding the knife, harming her.

She wanted to scream, for the Arch-mistress couldn’t even fathom what she did wrong to deserve her girls turning on her, nonetheless, she mustn’t be allow herself to be weak, “Triss, darling girl, you have two seconds to tell me this; why you are slashing my skin like I am a fish?”

There was a gasp, no, three, however only the raven-haired mage was able to look her in the eye and she felt a sense of betrayal grander than what she had known when her father sold her off to the Duke. She couldn’t stop the sole tear that left her left eye, treachery had never tasted this venomous, had never been this destructive, “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m trying to save you.” Intelligent eyes studied her form, she was bleeding from her signs, crimson mixed with black, pale from blood loss and the toll her wasting away had taken on her, skinnier than she had seen her in almost a century. The violet-eyed woman resembled the girl from the pigpen so much in that moment it made her manic and if the world were fair it would have never been like this, “I will do the ritual.”

She felt like she had been encased in a solid block of ice and now, now she understood everything, from her questions, her encouragement, her hope and the way she had looked at her, even so, she knew the risks and the consequences, “Don’t do it… _Don’t_ … Yennefer… Stop. _Let me go.”_ Tissaia may have once been selfish and accepted, but she was too much in her heart, her soul, to put her at risk, even if that meant getting a second chance.

The woman wouldn’t glance her way and by the looks of it, she had planned to find a cure for her since she gave her the necklace.

For fuck’s sake, she had underestimated the things she felt for her and the possible words, the labels, frightened her, yet there was no other explanation that came to mind. It made her know she was stupid, because all her waking moments after Sodden she had tried to cloak it as respect, as gratefulness, not something this blithering idiot would sever her soul for, _“Please.”_

“I’m _not_ sorry and I _won’t_ stop.” The younger woman crouched and for the first time in centuries the brunette couldn’t put herself together, breaking at the seams, all those carefully constructed stitches lost.

So few words and actions to undo her, the woman that had survived everything except dimetirium, Yennefer had done the one thing history had failed at.

The former mage had lived too long, too much, had seen too many things, to understand that people could always hurt more, that they could be split apart even when they were just small fragments, that it could go on even when they had been made nothing other than ashes.

This, though, this was a pain that was five hundred years of loss and war and anger could never hope to compare to, “If you pass on, I _will_ follow you.”

“I can’t let you die.” It was a murmur and though she could realistically do nothing about it, Tissaia tried to find something to wield, anything, against them, however unreasonable and foolish it was. In her weakened state, she couldn’t stop three grown mages from doing to her whatever it was they wanted.

“And I can’t lose you.” In that moment the two most powerful sorceress’ alive were reduced to nothing but bits and pieces, “I wouldn’t survive either way.” Broken, beautiful things.

The knot in her throat was too big for her to be able to talk, so when the raven-haired sorceress rested her chin against her kneecap, Tissaia and Yennefer both started _weeping_. The Arch-mistress shook her head no, mouthing _‘Let me go.’_ over and over and over with a devotion she had not thought she had within her.

If anything, the smallest thing went wrong they would vanish and she had long accepted her fragile mortality, still, the woman had begged the Gods for hers to be more resilient.

The two friends watching the scene held each other, with Triss sniffling against Sabrina’s chest and the blonde weeping quietly. It was too much, they had never thought it would hurt like this, their minds could have never imagined feeling so much at watching two of the people they loved most begging the other to set them free.

“Bree.” The green-eyed sorceress handed her the dagger and she opened the sheer robe that covered Tissaia, carving the final rune just above where her beating heart was, in the same spot she had hers, then she took the bottle that was by her legs, covering her thighs, her arms and her back with it. The brunette didn’t even hiss, she just closed her eyes, biting her lower lip so hard it, too, started bleeding.

When she was done, she closed the garment, giving her back her modesty and she stood up, turning her head upwards to see that the moonlight would be closing in, in just a few minutes, “Get out of the circle. _Go! Now!_ ” They walked backwards until they were just inches away from the first red words, feeling more overwhelmed with each second that passed.

No going back, this was it.

The violet-eyed woman cut her unwilling partner out of her ties, saying nothing as she slid to the floor, head bowed. Then she threw the chair that had held her as far and with as much force as she was able to garner, until it crashed with a bookshelf, a few tomes falling to the floor and finally, kicking the dagger to where Sabrina was.

It was just waiting game until the white light illuminated them and chaos judged them.

Never looking back, she sat down in front the ill woman, only to be slapped, her already bruised cheek inflaming again, Yennefer was about to say something, but Tissaia lunged for her- Vulnerable as she held her face between her two hands and _kissed her._

Her lips were soft against her own and she gave back as good as she got, with as much ferocity, with as much desperation, with as much tenderness when they ran out of air because this might be goodbye, because everything changed forever after this no matter what happened.

Looking at each other through half-lidded eyes, they smiled and rested their foreheads against the other.

Then the moonlight came to tear them apart.

Tissaia De Vries and Yennefer of Vengerberg were judged worthy.

Violet eyes rolled back, closing and she went limp in her arms, sobs immediately shaking her petite frame with a strength born of the grief that consumed her and her only response were pained whimpers, so soft she almost missed them. All of the younger woman's strength was gone.

She knew it could happen, the Elves had once told Rita that it was possible to save just one person in the case that the other’s soul had been too far gone or if their body was too weak to go through the partition.

Running her fingers through her hair, through soft raven locks, the sounds turned to short breaths, which already threatened to stop. Undone, bent, shattered. The only woman that had thawed the ice in her heart was dying in her arms to give her a mercy she did not deserve.

Sabrina and Triss clearly did not know this, they just stared at them with wide eyes. She could feel their shocked gazes on them, yet nothing mattered anymore, the castle could burn to the ground in that instant and she wouldn’t care.

Tissaia needed a miracle, she couldn’t lose her, couldn’t let their story end like this, not when it could have been so much more.

The woman could feel as the sacrifice came to pass, her limbs stronger than they had ever been, her senses sharper than what should have been humanly possible, all of it conceivable as she was gifted her own chaos back and hers. She would pay the price of that transaction later; the torture would come to pass even if she had to endure it alone.

“Come back... Come back...” The mage begged, “ _Come back to me.”_

She had been blessed with Godly power in her veins, but what was that compared to her pain? To her loss? _Nothing._

The words in Elder and the runes that made the sacred circle rose from the floor, shining, levitating around them both, encasing them in a cage, invisible walls rising from nothing, keeping them separated from the outside world. The verses and the symbols deformed, changing at least three times before settling and the body in her arms went completely still, frame slack.

Blue eyes glowed golden, her hair floating like she was underwater, skin shimmering like it was made of stars. Aggrieved wails tore through her with the same strength as the waves that clashed with the foundation of Aretuza and the tears that she cried didn’t look like they were natural, made of water, instead, they looked like molten gold.

Letting a guttural, feral scream, fill the room, two lightning bolts fell from the otherwise calm sky, making an explosion outside the sphere when they touched the floor; glass shattering, bookshelves flying against the walls, objects and tomes colliding with the stone in violet manner, nonetheless, never as hostile as how the sorceress looked that instant.

Tissaia could see them, the threads that made her life, her story, her soul, as they left her. _She extended her hands and took Yennefer back from Death itself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note:  
> First of all - Yennefer is NOT dead. She was saved by Tissaia (for like the 6th time).  
> Second of all- I expect a lot of screaming in the comments... make me proud!!! ;-)


	10. X.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Okay guys so here's part two of the chapter and whooo, is it a wild ride, anyways I am so fucking sick and bloody tired of the Prophecy child trope and I've decided to make them both the most powerful people alive, even though I know that's Ciri, sorry not sorry.

_X._

Violet eyes snapped open and everything was different, the world around her more vibrant than ever before, more real than it had ever felt. Tissaia was holding her, tears falling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, she tried to comfort her but was unable as at the same time they both doubled over in pain, the brunette taking a sharp intake of breath and her letting out a cry, it was like having a beast scratching at their insides trying to claw its way out.

So, it began.

Their bones were useless, unable to carry them, so they lay flat against the floor, fingers almost touching as their bodies grew hot and the rune on their breast turned similar to a brand, like someone had taken iron to fire and pushed it into their skins.

They would pay the price of the mercy she had requested, brokenness beyond what they had ever imagined possible.

On her olive palms, tiny cuts, where they could be excused as a slip of hand with the needle until they were a monstrous thing that had to be fixed every so often with expensive tonics so they went back to being pure and then the process started once again, _“My lovely daughter, your tender heart will get you killed, harden it before others do it for you.”_ The only counsel Tissaia’s mother had ever given her.

 _“I’ll be good for you, Mother.”_ Countess De Vries had always accepted that the things that lived in boxes inside her child’s mind sometimes slipped out, curing her wounds with tenderness and saving her from the shame of her actions, keeping them secret even from her trusted staff. The only kind of motherly affection she ever got.

Gods, as a child she had severed her own heart before Fringilla did her soul.

Across from her was the brunette, cheek against the stone and knuckles white, she sat with abrupt force, panting and rolling to her side as she vomited her guts out, bile lingering on her throat. Then the Arch-mistress began twitching. Eyes closed and more droplets of water falling from them as the gash from her abdomen opened once again, her insides burning and her back bending as she curled into herself.

Tissaia’s spine was breaking in several parts, to assume how the raven-haired woman had once looked, afterwards beginning to put itself together once again, her blood boiling inside her and some of it left through her nose.

 _“How could anyone ever love you?”_ A sadness so strong because he was right, how could anyone ever love a monster as hideous as her? _“Mama.”_ A face came to her inner eye, of a woman who had once been so beautiful she had had nobles at her feet, turning them down for her one true love.

These memories were not hers; they were Yennefer’s.

Nonetheless, it craved more, her pale complexion now soaked with sweat and blood, as she got on her knees and the bones of the Rectoress’ began face breaking, rearranging, although they had already perfect. Mouth open, desperately trying to catch her breath, for her nose had already given up. Her jaw turning into a wretched thing and changing back to normal after it was done, _“I’d skin myself alive if I were able.”_ Dark thoughts always haunted her when there was a mirror, filthy water served as one.

Stupid girl, beauty was only ever skin deep.

They had returned early from the party, since her mother had gotten a bit tipsy, exposing the many manly inadequacies of her Lord Husband when asked by the vicious snakes that lived at court.

The screams and the laughter could be heard throughout the whole property, yet the servants just tried to ignore them as best as they could, they knew intervening would only earn them a visit to the gallows. So, the maids that cared for the little Lady could be caught drowning their worries in fine, pricey scotch, _“They won’t notice and you three deserve it.”_ Indulged by the cooks, for once.

The moment her heeled foot had touched the marble the onslaught began, punches and kicks that made her screech and giggle hysterically. Tissaia had tried to intercede when she had begun bleeding, shielding the woman with her own tiny body only to be thrown against the far-left wall, breaking her right leg, _“Observe and stay quiet. Learn.”_ Her bone broke in five parts as the raven-haired woman hollered.

No wonder she had grown up to kill them.

Yelling, her mouth fully agape and her blue eyes wide, her right was arm bent at an unnatural angle, _“You shall never speak, you are a beast and those stay silent.”_ Tissaia recognized the voice, from many decades ago and she saw the leather belt that tied her to the wood, feet dangling from the floor as she stayed that way all night, the thing eventually snapping from holding all her weight in one arm. The mud of the pigpen had softened the blow, but the damage was already done.

The death he had gotten was merciful, she would make it ten times worse if she was ever able to turn back the clock.

Yennefer felt as lightning scorched the epidermis of her chest, shooting down through her, burning and marring previously untouched tissue, _“You have always been a disappointment, but as of today, you are also a shame.”_ Leaving her unable to think properly as it turned into scars, as they whitened like it had been a thing of years past and she chipped a tooth, her control over herself lost as the rest of her body caught up with the pain.

Then her legs sprouted with boils, _“A side effect of what happened, of your true power.”_ A female voice she had never hear told her, her tone vicious, perhaps even jealous, gracing her ears like both a caress and a threat. They filled quickly, then burst and the contents of it felt like acid against her already tender skin, bruises forming around them as she heaved. Her were eyes unable to focus as something dark telling her to claw at them, to make the beast inside match the one outside.

She had not been a beast, another lie; how many had they told her, how many had Tissaia told herself?

He had beaten her so badly, this time they had to consult a physician, twelve marks he had charged to ensure she didn’t die, _“You got lucky, Tommy, one hour more without attention and you would’ve hung.”_ Everyone could ignore her screams and her cries, take satisfaction in them, as long as soon after Yennefer was still alive, for the day that those resulted in her laying peacefully six feet under the law would have to classify it as murderer.

For the first time since she could remember she lay in a mattress, the skin of her back still bleeding from the whipping and the rest of her so inflamed she could find no comparison. On the other hand, she’d rather be back at the pigpen, where her younger sisters ignored her, instead of staring and the resentment from her mother was less obvious _, “You just had to make him angry, didn’t you?!”_

That fucking bitch.

Large vertical cuts opened in both her forearms, she could feel the glass they were made with, as it tore through muscle and by that point Yennefer was heaving, flashbacks of her own suicide attempt blurring with the one of a blue-eyed girl, younger than she had been, desperate, confused and overwhelmed.

Everything she knew was taken from her, weeds ripped from the grass by her own hand and sweet, sweet, satisfaction at the screams. Her reaction making the Arch-mistress believe the things she had always been told _, “Born in a golden crib, a jewelled monster.”_ They closed, leaving something truly terrible behind.

Not a monster, ruthless and manipulative, perhaps, but never a monster.

Four horizontal cuts appeared on her wrists, a cool shard ripping the dermis, lacerating the tendons and she screamed, cried, louder, because if she had learned to love one thing about herself it was her hands, _“You should have let me die.”_ The best decision she had ever made was to save her, time and time again, no matter that she had never wanted her help or her counsel.

The sorceress waited for them to heal but the wounds glowed golden, like before, in her body and hers.

One of her best-kept secrets was out. Fuck.

They looked at each other amongst the chaos, crying fresh tears and sobbing for the first time throughout the whole ordeal.

Yennefer dragged herself towards her, exerting the last of her strength in making it two feet across and when she couldn’t, Tissaia dragged herself half of the way to meet her, violet eyes expressing so many emotions that it was hard to tell what they were. Her mouth did not open, still, she heard her, _“Thank you…”_

Gratefulness tainted by the heavy stain of regret.

The violet-eyed woman was sorry, for all that she had said, for all the hurt caused intentionally, for all the accusations, for all the hatred… For all the things and the time, they lost.

The blue-eyed woman was sorry too, for all the cruel taunts, for how she treated her in her days as her student… For the things and the parts, she broke purposefully.

Today they wouldn’t say it, but they knew.

All the purest people, if not cared for, grow up to have poison in their veins and cruelty in their hearts.

Then the seizures began, invisible bonds wrapped around their bodies and they robbed them of peace, of dignity as their bodies jerked and contorted against their will, their mind stuck in a cage of a higher being’s making. Aware of it, of the pain, the excruciating pain, through it all, as they begged for it to stop and worse was the loss of control over something they had always taken for granted.

It was hard to truly know when one had stopped and a new one began, just a pinch in their cores that told them that as long as it didn’t stop the next one would be worse. Unable to holler their rage and their frustration into existence, the key forgotten somewhere they could not reach, no matter how hard they tried and the minutes of silence blended as it went on and on.

Perhaps that was the hardest part, to be trapped somewhere that was as dangerous as their minds, with no way to ask the outside world for help. Their haunted eyes the only part they could move at will, keeping them open, because the demons would come out to play if they closed them, their whispers seductive, the darkness an outlet as the rest of them was held captive.

Broken, shattered. Those two words now held many meanings and they had lacerated the outside and the inside in equal measure.

Their spirits and their bodies a weak, spoiled thing. A promise fulfilled.

Abused muscles started stretching, throbbing and pulling, to make way for an unseen force, for the change they had endured so much for to finally happen. A holy thing that was never supposed to be touched by mortal hands altering.

An acute awareness of how now they were beginning to melt into each other, like vines intertwining. Their life forces connecting so deep it would take years of careful experiments and studies to tell where one energy ended and the other began. A bridge of sorts.

It stopped, just as the sun’s yellowness replaced the ethereal and pure white. They could breathe again, sucking in air like they had been drowning the whole time, “Tissaia…”

“Yennefer…” Two bodies drenched in blood, tears and sweat. Already shutting down, a survival mechanism for all the suffering they endured, emotional, physical and mental, lest they went mad.

Consciousness which were quickly lost.

Their wounds knit closed and Yennefer’s teeth returned to their perfect state. Ravaged skin unmarked, the secrets behind the marks gone.

Leaving no testament to the torture they endured all night save the mark in their left breast, white and calm after the storm. Only two proofs existing, the scar and the two women, who had screamed and cried the whole night away, too, the scene rising from one of their worst nightmares. Triss’ arms were bleeding from the many scratches she had inflicted on herself and Sabrina’s golden hair lay in clumps on the floor.

After a long moment of silence, the blonde mumbled, “We will never speak of this again; I do believe we should’ve left.”

“We won’t and we couldn’t… Even so, it was wrong of us to watch, like tainting something that was sacred and rotten at the same time.” The brunette cleaned her face with the back of her hands, slouching.

“Indeed… Come on, they have to rest and us too.” The mage lethargically responded.

Helping the other get up, the brown-eyed woman levitated them with care whilst the other one worked on getting the door opened. The sounds of the wards alerted her that it was time and as the violet-eyed mage had predicted, there were no guards or passer-by’s outside, the majority of the Brotherhood probably still enjoying the aftermath of the ball, even more so now that they were going to war.

Triss almost dropped them to the floor in their surprise when the portal to Tissaia’s private chambers opened to show Coral, sitting exactly in front of them with a judgmental stare, both gloved hands neatly folded on her lap, in the armrest two vials with what seemed like dreamless potion, “You are going to kill someone if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe, maybe not, only time will tell.” The grey-eyed sorceress cleaned non-existent dirt from her dress. Ginger hair blending with the red tones the Rectoress had decorated her room with and in the candlelight she looked far older than she was, with eyes that had seen too much and a hint of exhaustion that she forgot to cloak, “We need to talk.”

“Right now?” Huffed Sabrina, crossing her arms as to not keep tearing at her hair and tapping her feet against the wood. A defiant look in her face, daring the older mage to find a good enough reason to keep them awake after what they had witnessed, the screams and the cries consuming them.

“Dear, if you think watching was traumatic, imagine yourself living it.” Coral chuckled, pointing with her nose to the women that were still floating in the air, any defining features lost to the crimson that permeated their forms. Appearing almost dead in the gentle candlelight, the rise of their chest too gentle for anyone that was more than three feet away to think them living, “She took Yennefer back from Death, didn’t she?”

Sabrina rubbed her eyes, reclining against the wall, it had been the most impossible thing she had ever seen and if someone had told her what had happened she would’ve thought them insane, yet it had all been true, like a scene from one of her most outlandish fantasies, “She did and Tissaia didn’t look human for a while, her eyes glowing, thunder falling and shit.”

The redhead narrowed her eyes, several different scenarios of how that could have gone were coming forth to her mind eye, still, they all ended in the two of them going through the ritual. It seemed that in every possible scenario of the younger woman ever dying her friend would have gone to the ends of the earth, would have done anything, to have her not perish, “I feared that may be the case.”

“Can you tell us why that happened?” Triss had always been too curious for her own good, or so her mentor had always told her, even then she was convinced that _that_ should have never happened, that Yennefer should have died in the sacrifice, Tissaia holding her as the last of her energy left her body. What had come to pass, was as unnatural, as it was intriguing and unnerving.

“She’s is both a part of the Chapter and Rectoress for a very good reason, the Arch-mistress is powerful beyond imagination.” Anyone that had ever seen her control chaos had a fair idea, that yes, she was extremely powerful, but still, the way her former classmate said the words, with such caution, well, it made it clear that they had never understood how competent in the art she really was.

They knew she was trying to be emotionless while explaining this to them and it wasn’t working. There existed few mages with what was called _‘The sight’_ , being one of the few that had surpassed the first one hundred years, her focus was always divided, trying to keep the overwhelming amount of information at bay, “Tissaia’s only equal has been her best pupil, whom she loves and loves her back, even if they are too pig-headed to see.”

Crinkling her nose, her hands went to grip her cane, eyes looking around the space like the walls had grown ears and any other day it would have been comedic, nonetheless, after the night they had had this just put them more on edge, her next comment would surely not be nice, “Stregobor is a close second.” Yes, they had noticed and underestimating him had cost them quite a bit, a near-death experience, actually.

“Now combine that amount of chaos in a sole body and you have someone more powerful than anyone that shall ever be born.” It made sense, that if only one of them was to survive, the party that remained would absorb all the talent of the person who had passed on and from how the brunette had looked, that was enough to almost match deities.

When it had happened, they hadn’t had the time or the peace to analyse how she had brought back their sibling from the far beyond and having it explained to them was yet another shock, “Thus her ability to defy the one of the Goddesses, awfully stupid on her part, still, her action entertained Her, else she would have been killed.” Not many people believed in the Gods, sorcerers even less so, but this had planted the seed of doubt in them.

“What did you do with him, by the way?” Licking her pale lips, she hoped it was something as horrid as him. Sabrina needed to redirect all the viciousness in her chest towards someone or something that deserved it and he was the first person or thing that came to mind. What a fucking shame she had tripped.

“I was able to change the reason for the encounter and who starred in it, nevertheless, Istredd will take the blame of everything. I was not strong enough to shatter his shields and manipulate his mind.” It wasn’t fair; he was stupid, not evil, then again almost everything that happened in the world was not so. Triss scratched the back of her hand, brown eyes closed, this war was only starting and already it had costed them too much.

Grey eyes looked at the floor, it had been a hard choice, but he was the only person close enough to Stregobor to know of his secrets, to be able to exploit them, “He will be executed for treason against the Chapter and for stealing the ring very soon. They believe him to be working for Fringilla, you see, another little push in the right direction.”

Perhaps what was inside Sabrina was too poisonous, for she couldn’t find it within herself to care at all, less so when he had betrayed her sister before her ascension, when he willingly worked for someone as treacherous and devious as his master. Istredd must have known that a monster sponsored him, “That’s incredibly clever.”

“We appreciate you answering all of our questions.” Wide-eyed she looked at the sorceress, her pulse accelerating at her tone. She fidgeted with her rings and looked at her, trying to find the woman Triss knew so well, finding nothing that she could recognize. When she was extremely distressed, she turned into another person completely, a very cruel one at that.

“These are for you; I don’t think you’ll be able to rest otherwise. I shall clean them up, so don’t worry about that.” Coral handed them the potions, her gaze lingering on the blonde.

“Don’t concern yourselves with checking up on them for the next five or seven days, either, they will spend them sleeping while the connection settles in their minds.” That process was as sacred as the first, best left off not witnessed, too.

She waved her hand in their general direction, where they still levitated, robes ruined and hairs matted. In their slumber she could see that they reached for the other, which made her smile, stubbornness was too problematic in matters of the heart, “Lower them on the bed if you will.”

“What are they? After all of this?” Triss’ gentle voice coaxed and that made Coral shrug, she may be gifted, nonetheless, that, the real answer would evade her for as long as she lived and she wouldn’t seek it. Tissaia, for all her faults was her closest friend, alongside Rita and she deserved to keep her privacy on that matter intact.

“There are many labels that come to mind, but all of them would be lacking.” It was the truth, or the part of it that she was willing to divulge. Part of her had feared that the brunette would survive, only to awake to a lonely bed, many times had she seen her lose loved ones, but grief like that would have killed her more effectively than dimetirium.

“Now, can you hand me the keys?” Trying to not let her exasperation show, she extended her gloved hand. One hand ripped the chain from her neck, whilst the other searched her pockets and then her fingers, coming short on the second object, her brow furrowed, a litany of curses passing through Triss’ thoughts, “I left the ring inside the vault.”

“I shall retrieve it and plant it on the boy’s things.” The necklace would have to do, then, she closed her fist, tilting her head to the side, “Off you go.”

“Coral?” The brunette asked while the blonde made the motions with shaking hands to open a portal to their quarters. Her fatigue just now hitting her with the same force as if a carriage had run over her.

With genuine surprise, she turned, as to try to understand her expression, which was tainted with too many things, too many thoughts, for her to be able to make them all out in a single night. Leaning forward slightly, the medium answered the mage with a question of her own, glancing sideways for a second, “What is it, child?”

“Thank you.” It was honest, that much she could tell and Coral sighed, a quick smile gracing her lips as she swatted with her hands her gratefulness away like a particularly persistent fly. She needed them out of the room if the redhead wanted the process of tidying them up to be shorter than two hours.

The green-eyed woman observed the exchange, rolling her eyes and tapping her foot. Her arms were heavy from maintaining the portal open when she herself didn’t have the strength necessary to stay upright for much longer and beads of sweat were appearing on her forehead as she struggled with her chaos, nonetheless, the blonde meant what she said next, “For everything.”

“Thank me by leaving this room before you collapse on the floor or the carpet.” They did, stepping through to their rooms and collapsing on Triss’ bed a soon as it was close enough to them.

Throwing an arm over her face, she said, “I want to be like her when I grow up.”

“I know, Sabrina. I know.” Answered the brunette, groaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: My mental health has been steadily collapsing for the past few weeks, which is quite obvious if you follow me on tumblr (@claesbang) and everything is very hard for me right now, including eating. I MIGHT take a week off to try and get better so if by Monday (late) night there's no chapter please understand that I most likely collapsed. 
> 
> Also, Coral answering shit??? WHAT'S GOING ON????


	11. XI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Welcome BACK to my channel!!!!!

_XI._

Yennefer had woken up inside a treasury, with no memories of how she got there.

Still, it was easy to tell the owners belonged to some court, that they were nobles, from the chandeliers and the intricate designs carved on the shelves, the marble floor under her feet and the mural that was in the ceiling, the night sky replicated with extraordinary precision.

To her left there were two chaise lounges; the first one was beige, frequently used from the state of the fabric, yet otherwise perfectly preserved, pristine and small enough that it wouldn’t fit a normal person, so it was probably custom made. The midnight blue one seemed to be new, clashing with the otherwise modest aura of the room, its base made of ebony and to her, it seemed inviting enough.

In front of the seats was a glass table, which had two vases, one that held orchids, the porcelain a white colour with no the decorations and one that housed lilacs, the clay painted in an intense navy blue that had leaves outlined in silver. The mage could smell their sweet aroma even when she wasn’t near them.

In the middle of the room, there was something similar to a book stand, placed on a platform with gold markings.

Everything here existed in perfect harmony.

Nevertheless, none of it gave Yennefer an idea of where she was or exactly who was the person this belonged to, with no ornaments, portraits or clues that could give her even a vague sense of who owned this magnificent collection of what appeared to be music boxes. An infinite amount of them, stretching as far as the eye could see.

All of them neatly placed next to each other and the only thing that served to differentiate them were figures in the wood, they were of faces and objects. Extending her hands towards one she could feel energy radiating from it, olive palms hovering for a few seconds over one, so many feelings and impressions it exuded she now longed to open it.

Cautious, for the first time in her life Yennefer recoiled, instead turning her violet eyes to the ivory floor and it showed her, her reflection.

She was dressed in the same dress she had worn to the battle in Sodden, however, it lacked the soot and the blood that had ruined the fabric. In the stone under her feet, the raven-haired mage could vaguely see that the emerald green eye shadow she used daily coated her eyelids, highlighting her lilac eyes and her hair rested in soft waves against her back.

Holding her breath, she tugged the sleeve of her left forearm upwards, only to discover that two horizontal scars were missing and then she did the same with her right sleeve, finding the same; unmarred tissue.

Yennefer's breathing became rapid, grief, for so many things, burning inside her.

In seventy years, she had been able to recognize what they meant, the reason why she had kept them. She knew that they were as important to her as her chaos. To her they were victory, shame, power, pain, hope and purpose, they were beauty, a normal spine and jaw, they were damnation and salvation in equal measure. They represented everything.

The world stopped for a moment, as the memories of why they were now missing came forwards, one by one, scream by scream and cry by cry. Gods, the book they had discovered could have never prepared her for the experience and yes, the sights she had seen, the things she learned, the wounds Yennefer had acquired, had left her shattered, as vulnerable as a new-born.

Hearing the life story of someone was so very different than living it, if only for a moment and the things she had witnessed answered the questions she never had the nerve to ask. Every memory more painful than the last and it seemed absurd, to think that the whimpering child hiding in the corner of the room was the only female member in the Chapter.

It was infuriating, that the real reason Tissaia was almost never seen with gloves was because she had cut her dark thoughts and her unshed tears on them with the needle she was supposed to be using to embroider pretty things into silk. Worse was that her mother hadn’t ever tried to make her stop, she just cleaned the canvas over and over again.

It was heart-breaking, that after all she had to endure, they betrothed her to a man thrice her age and her only way out was to burn them all to the ground. Tears blurring her vision upon arriving to Aretuza, the shame of enjoying their shrieks making her tremble and she had finally let herself believe that she was what they had always told her, that she was nothing but a beautiful beast, deciding on the spot that she deserved an end as crude as the one witchers gave their monsters.

What had the sorceress seen, as her bones broke and she screamed herself hoarse? Probably nothing good, only three things in her long life had ever made her genuinely smile, had made her love, more specifically three pairs of eyes; green, brown… _Blue._

How were they supposed to fight a war that desperately needed them, when they both were just waiting for the last shard to turn to dust? to explode?

Yennefer clenched her teeth, the logistics of it didn’t matter, she’d defend, protect Aretuza to the best of her abilities and she’d defend, protect its’ Rectoress by _any_ means, if only to see her smile again.

Her knees almost gave away as one particular truth assaulted her repeatedly; Tissaia had saved her life and her future as a sorceress, by lacerating her flesh. She could have lost everything, had the Chapter discovered her secret, all for a girl that was bought for four marks from her own father, that couldn’t bend water to save her skin, that spat curses and hate her way every time they crossed paths after her ascension.

For all the harshness and cruelness that she had shown her, that woman had grown to adore her, to admire her, to long for her and want to protect her.

Still, a selfish part of her wanted to hate herself even more, for giving up the one thing that had truly been hers and hers alone. Those scars that had proven Yennefer had risen from the mud of her long-abandoned pigpen to reside in a palace, that the beast whose cries amused the villagers could now break their necks without even moving her hands.

Few significant choices had she been allowed to make in her Before and that was the most important of them all, even when every glance that came to rest of her wrists turned judgmental. Different types of judgmental, of course. Pity was the most common one and they approached her with caution, to them she was a piece of porcelain that had already been broken and was only being held together by low-quality glue. Like the mage was playing a game and in reality, she was ready to cut open her flesh again. Anger was the second one, harsh words that were thrown her way, curses, if she was particularly lucky that day like they could teach a woman twice their age a lesson transcendental enough to change her past and her future.

Even so, it just wasn’t a mark that meant she had been victorious, it was also one that represented that no matter how low she might fall, Tissaia would always try to save her. Always.

Perhaps… Perhaps it had always been meant to be that way, with the brunette doing or trying to do so until she herself was doomed and with her realising until it was too late that she’d sell her soul to the devil to repay the favour. And she had.

Yennefer heard a siren call, Tissaia’s voice in a broken mumble, her voice pleading. She turned sharply to see where the sound came from and where the sitting area had been another shelf rose from the floor; it was made of blue granite, cracked in many parts, its’ wounds shining white and the boxes there were locked with an intricate padlock, lacking the depictions, hints, that the others had.

She was about to inspect one when the source of the sound changed again, coming from one place and then from every single available one. It started with a mumbling which turned into whimpers and finally, cries, more distressed with every second that passed.

The mural above her began to move, a storm replacing the stars, drops of water falling and then, lightning.

She turned on herself, her eyes narrowed to try to guess where the noises exactly came from, nonetheless, it didn’t help her quest and instead, she closed her eyes, expanding her energy the way she had been taught to almost seventy-five years ago and she found something.

_“Come back…”_

Her feet carried her down a path that hadn’t been there before, which was steadily turning into a maze, the sound of her boots against the stone muffled by the intensity of the tempest, her hair sticking to her forehead and she hastily wiped the locks away.

The temperature dropped significantly and Yennefer began shivering, not because of the cold, because those sobs belonged to the person she cared most about.

The mage ran faster, as fast as her feet would allow her, as they became more anguished, turning left and right with no plan in mind, just trying to follow where her cries were louder, “Tissaia, where are you?!” She stopped for a moment, waiting for an answer that didn’t come.

Thunder crashed against one of the walls, severing a massive part of it, the gneiss headed directly for her head, _“CLYSEDIO!”_ Yennefer shouted, her hands covering her face as a reflex, the shield managing to protect her from the thing that would have crushed her before it disappeared.

Then the ground began shaking, parting before her, her eyes went wide and her breathing turned ragged and by some miracle, she wasn’t swallowed into the void when she was too slow to get out of the way. The aggressiveness of the rainstorm making it harder for her to see where it was safe for her to step on, where she wouldn’t fall.

_“Come back…”_

The way forwards seemed more treacherous with every passing second, still, that was where the brunette was, where the increasingly aggrieved sobs were coming from. Yennefer refused to stop when she had already done so much, so she pushed on, vines rising from the mud, (when had it changed from ivory to gneiss to mud?) grabbing at her, trying to stop her.

Her arms and hands tinted yellow as she burned every single one of them, “Tissaia, I’m coming!”

Just a few more steps, just a few steps more, this she repeated to herself over and over again as the rain left her blind, unable to see anything but her own person and then things changed once again. Black threads sprouting from the walls, strong as steel and for all the training she had done in her self-inflicted exile she wasn’t able to dodge and destroy every single one of them.

Tired and dizzy, they finally bested her, just as the sobs turned to wails.

Fringilla appeared in front of her, a golden crown in her head, dressed in robes so magnificent she had never seen anything like it in any court. Her posture strong and proud as she sneered down at her, the power that flowed through her veins making Tor Lara and the vault seem as exceptional as any of the first year’s classrooms.

She struggled against her bonds, “Where is she?”

“It doesn’t matter. She was withholding you, Yennefer, don’t you see? She was jealous of who you and I could become, of who I became without her.” Fringilla's shoulders were pushed back, her chin slightly tucked.

Her former friend was appealing to her hurt, for if she couldn’t have love then she’d have power. To her thwarted attempts at being the best amongst them, redirecting her frustration when she failed towards the one person who should have been able to shape Yennefer into the thing of legends.

“I offered you once a place at my side, sister. Now… Now I offer you something better than just being my advisor, I offer you all your deepest desires.” Geralt appeared, holding a bundle in his arms, a sleeping child with olive skin and white hair.

It was a lie, all of it, a weak attempt at tempting her to abandon the blue-eyed woman, “Where- is- she?”

“Don’t you want my gifts? Someone who loves you unconditionally? And just look at that babe Yenna; she looks so much like you!" The Empress tilted her head, smiling tenderly like she used to do when they were preparing for their final exams and Ella was helping her study.

It was difficult to accept, that the enemy had once been one of her siblings, “Where- is- she?!”

“I see… What is it you told Breena and Triss? Ah, yes… _‘I would choose Tissaia every day of my life.’_ ” Fringilla extended her left arm, grinning like the mad woman she was.

“Look how well that turned out… You failed, as you always do.” In the floor, bloodied and wheezing lay the mage, her dress the same she had worn to Sodden, the blue powder covering it, blood running down her nostrils, the wound in her belly open.

The bonds that held her faded away and Yennefer crawled towards her, moving her frame so she rested on her lap and her beautiful eyes opened for a moment, her lips curving into a small smile before Tissaia went slack in her arms.

Dead. Gone.

The logical part of her brain knew this was a dream, that for once she had saved her, that they had survived the ritual, if barely, that this wasn’t real, nevertheless, the problem lay in making her heart fully understand that.

Yennefer pounced for the Empress, tackling her to the floor, her legs pinning her arms and her hands choking her throat, her vision nothing but red as she smashed her head against the stone again and again with impressive speed and strength, stopping only when she heard a _‘crack’_.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t enough, for she was still breathing and the violet-eyed mage tightened the grip she had on her neck, heat coming off in waves from her palms. Brown eyes refused to close, so she squeezed even tighter, the bitch was going to die even if-

_“Come back to me.”_

It all disappeared before her eyes and she was back in the vault, as a spectator rather than a participant this time. Tissaia was holding her the same way she had her faux self.

The woman screamed, the sound that left her mouth as the body she held died sounded like it came from a wounded animal, like someone had taken five centuries of loss and suffering, moulded it into that.

Her shaking hand went to her mouth; Yennefer had thought she had passed out and in reality, she had died.

The sorceress that survived now had glowing eyes and floating hair, the veins in her body looking like golden threads. She continued weeping, all of her ethereal, a Goddess reborn.

Her wrath and her pain made the impossible happen; as the last of her essence left her body she extended her elegant hands, yanking her back from inhuman fingers, from a woman that was beautiful in a way she would never be able to describe, one that smirked with mischievous eyes, letting go of what was rightfully Hers for a few more centuries.

╌

Tissaia woke up in a room that resembled a workshop.

Still, she was pleasantly surprised to find that for such a large space it didn’t feel overwhelming, which was unusual, now that centuries had passed and people had decided open spaces should be littered with useless knickknacks.

Against the wall, to her right, were two desks; the limestone one was worn, it had many deep scratches and stains, tools and weapons resting on it, along with two books, all of it messily arranged, absolutely unkempt, in her opinion. The marble one seemed to be new, its surface smooth and immaculate, it stuck out with the otherwise obscure aura.

Next to them was a lit hearth, the flames bluer than orange, even so, they were tall and there was a fur carpet in front of it. Two glass ornaments hung from the middle, a white cat and a black fox. The details of the craftsmanship spectacular, like few she had ever seen.

She inhaled deeply, reigning in her impulses to take the black canine between her hands, to have a better look at it, instead Tissaia turning her gaze to the three-feet-tall cauldron in the centre, which was filled with water.

Everything here was precariously balanced, she reckoned that if one thing changed it would turn into a disaster.

Yet none of it gave her a concrete answer as to who this belonged to. Sorcerers with personal studios were common in the Brotherhood, yes, but few of them had a workspace that could compare to the one in the Dre Vries manor. 

The walls were lined with shelves, thousands and thousands of glass bottles filled with coloured liquids cramming every available space, the fluids inside them moving as if they were leeches.

It would take her a significant amount of time to try to find where it started and where it ended, but it didn’t bother her, since she could also make an inventory, categorize what those substances were, ones that she couldn’t recognise even being Rectoress of Aretuza.

They hummed with an energy so powerful her whole body throbbed with chaos as a reflex. Beckoning her to touch. And she did, expression awed as Tissaia boldly and unconsciously took several steps forwards only to get burnt all the way up to her elbow when she touched the glass.

The mage went for the cauldron, fixing the damage next to it, hissing, her blue eyes narrowed.

When she was finished Tissaia noted she was dressed in the same gown she had worn to Sodden, clean as it had been when they had arrived by boat and short-tempered, impulsive, as she felt, her first action upon was to transform that Gods-forsaken thing into black breeches and an icy blue doublet. 

Her fingers, without her consent, opened the first five buttons of it and she touched the scar reverently, tracing its lines with just her fingertips. It wasn’t pretty, nor was it ugly, it just looked like something that should have never been needed. Sighing, she buttoned up the cloth again.

Tissaia had sacrificed too much to become good at suppressing her emotions, at turning them into small things that could be locked somewhere they couldn’t rise without her encouragement, but after that night, the things on her chest all threatened to spill out and for once she was unable to stop it, her hands against her womb as the onslaught began.

All of it threatened to drown her.

Blinking repeatedly, she couldn’t get her eyes to focus and wherever she turned there was a moment from the ritual replaying. Her voice crying in several different ways, tears leaving her eyes as she contorted nonstop for hours on end, bones breaking as she endured the worst occurrences of Yennefer’s life before coming to Aretuza and lastly, her suicide attempt.

So many had tried to break her, a list so numerous, in fact, Tissaia found there was no use in counting them anymore and she let herself forget everything about them except their eyes, after the threat they posed had been neutralized.

It was only fitting that the only person that inadvertently taught her to feel again would be the one that accomplished what her predecessors had all failed at.

Before being poisoned she had long forgotten what powerlessness felt like, she had forgotten how it felt to be a doll that smiled and played a game that she was too young to understand, without complaining. A submissive and quiet thing.

Even so, the Viscountess' cage was grand, pretty enough that she could easily lie to herself when she began to comprehend that all she could ever hope to be was a witness to a whispered tragedy.

Her pupils often came from broken homes, some with more distressing stories to tell than others and she had known that the violet-eyed mage’s life before she took her away had been extremely unpleasant. Nevertheless, she could have never imagined the depths of the loathing her family had for her, the lengths they would go to, to show it.

Yennefer’s cage was a reminder of everything she thought would never be able to escape.

An abusive father that thought her less than the pigs he sold on the market, that resented her for something that had never been in her control. Engraining hatred so deep within herself that many of her first fantasies included skinning herself alive to see if her malformations, her corruption, was the same on the inside.

A meek mother that had long ago been very beautiful but equally stupid, that frantically held on to the idea of the man she thought she had married, as to not envision herself with the life that had once been offered to her, one of silks, balls and gold.

Their greatest transgression towards their daughter had been the lashing, the tree branch cutting through the thin fabric of her clothes until they were rags. The blood from the first hit and every one after painting his face drops of crimson which resembled the snowflakes that caressed their skin in winter, his mouth twisted into a manic smile.

Tomiah had paid twelve marks afterwards so he wouldn’t hang.

It made her wonder what the raven-haired woman had seen, the reasons she too had screamed and cried herself sick, her mind imprisoned in her twitching body. Tissaia was sure she had learned the real reason why she had such a large collection of gloves.

Even then it couldn’t be a priority right now. War, that was what awaited them when she re-joined the Chapter.

How was she supposed to keep the five members together when the news about the dimetirium came out? To be a General, charged with soldiers, once again? Especially when she had cried more this last month than she had ever done in her entire life.

Aretuza was her home and she would defend it by any means necessary, even if she didn’t feel comfortable with putting the knowledge within the vault to use and she’d gladly bleed the required amount to ensure no one would take Yennefer away from her.

Her breathing became laboured as she remembered how it felt to realize that the violet-eyed woman was willing, despite knowing what it entailed, what it meant, to sever her soul for her.

The Arch-mistress finally saw the things she had avoided to acknowledge in her convalescence; fondness and care, an intense yearning and devotion. A haggard face, the shadows under her eyes almost black, her cheekbones pulled in, her frame so skinny she resembled the girl that slept in the pigpen.

As a child, she had believed in the stories her nannies told her at night after they had tucked her in and she had held on to them until her conduit moment had changed everything. Tissaia De Vries had always wanted her own fairy tale even when everything else had been shattered by her parents and her fiancé.

Humans, all of them harboured some kind of bloodlust in their veins, some more destructive than others, from nobility to peasants, they all had the same depraved necessity to break what they touched. As toddlers, they broke their toys to see how they worked and as adults, they broke the people they thought would not seek revenge to see how they would try to live it out. What worth did someone have, if they hadn’t been hurt before? What was more addictive than watching a pure being step into the darkness willingly, to survive?

She was aware that some spent their whole lives doing the opposite of what those seductive whispers suggested, that they wouldn’t submit unless everything was taken from them, however, some became enamoured with the slaughter they left in their wake.

Like Stregobor.

Like Fringilla.

Like General Cahir.

Like Emperor Ehmyr van Emreis.

Marchioness De Vries had promised herself after her ascension, that she would never need anyone besides herself to protect her.

When she had taken the role of Rectoress, when she had been given the pendant, she had spent two weeks straight in the vault, eager to know the secrets they protected, the ones that were so powerful the Elves themselves had built a specific chamber in their most important castle to house them, to hide them. No book or scroll had disappointed her.

The last four days she cut her hand, wincing as she saw a needle instead of a dagger. Tissaia let the blood coat the necklace, a spell at the tip of her tongue as the floor melted from underneath her, magic slowing her fall, making her able to land on the floor unharmed and unshaken.

Her eyebrow raised as she first took in the view, mouth slightly agape; the most hazardous tomes, artefacts and ingredients to ever exist were at arm’s reach and the mage greedily consumed every word until she was able to recite entire chapters flawlessly.

And in the end, she had failed herself spectacularly. Only to find that her greatest protégé, the greatest peril in her career as a teacher, hoped that if she paid the price she would be able to give the brunette back everything that Sodden Hill and Fringilla had taken from her. And she had.

Tissaia heard a siren call, Yennefer’s voice in a mumble, talking too rapidly for her to make out the words, repeating _‘No.’_ so many times in the span of five minutes that the only plausible explanation was that someone or something had left her in shock.

A round table rose next to the cauldron, all of the bottles in it filled with putrid blood, the wood that held them deformed and scorched in several parts, leaving black stains and malformations that no one had bothered to fix. It was easy to tell the corks were enchanted to serve as keys.

Halfway through taking off the plug from the nearest one, without Tissaia noticing she had followed through with her compulsions, again, the mage was stopped as the distressed whispers turned into cries. After putting it back where it had been, she pinched the bridge of her nose and a trail appeared before her.

_“SHE DID WHAT?!”_

Everything around her melted into sand, making her lose the way she had mapped out, making it so that so the Rectoress had to rely on her hearing alone. Beads of sweat were already forming in her forehead, her skin clammy and dry as she wandered aimlessly with no way to mark where she had already been, for the dirt somehow possessed the ability to mask her magic.

Tissaia bit down on her lower lip harshly, as the cries turned into sobs, the words that fell from her lips nothing but incoherent ramblings. The woman tried to fasten her pace as much as she could with the arid and thick thing underneath her trying to stop her every time she took a step and the merciless sun shining ruthlessly over her.

“Yennefer, where are you?!” At least she didn’t have a dress on.

Her boot got stuck and she could feel herself descending, she tried to take a step backwards, for the brunette had once encountered quicksand in some Elven ruins about three hundred years ago, even so, it didn’t work. The sorceress deepened her breathing as to stop sinking, “Resurgemus.” Nothing happened, she was waist-deep now, _“REVERESCO!”_

Just before it reached her chin Tissaia said, “Bullatum.” Thanks to the spell she was able to see, breathe as it swallowed her whole and the only thing that surrounded her was blackness, more absolute than when she fell asleep in her office, the curtains’ drawn and the candles consumed.

Falling, she was falling, the dirt that had trapped her vanished into thin air and before she could scream properly, she landed against the stone on her back, the wind knocked out from her, dizzy and struggling to draw breath. Rolling to her side and standing on all fours as she panted.

_“Tell me it’s a lie… I beg you…”_

A door opened before her; it seemed like a deadly trap, it probably was, nonetheless, that was where the raven-haired mage was and the sounds she made were making her want to vomit. Tissaia would not stop looking for her unless they forced her to, so she crossed through, unmoved when it was slammed closed behind her.

Ghostly hands rose from the fissures in the floor to try to stop her from reaching her. Her arms were tinted white and lightning left through her hands as she forced them to withdraw, “Yennefer!”

She was close, she had to be, Tissaia repeated this to herself like a mantra as she went deeper into what seemed to be catacombs. The ball of light in her hands the only thing that enabled her to continue without crashing every few minutes.

Even so, the spectres came back with a vengeance, now full-bodied phantoms that attacked her. They managed to overwhelm her with their sheer numbers, the exact moment sobs turned into wails.

One of them grabbed her by her jaw, forcing her to look at the man that now stood before her. Stregobor had a silver crown on his head, adorned with diamonds and sapphires, shaped to look like shadows, a white cape covering him, with snakes, his sigil, embroidered into it, all of it as fine as if it had been made by Elves.

Strong and regal, the way he always was in Chapter meetings and the few instances they were alone together. The power he exuded was extreme, like nothing she had ever felt before, not even in the most sacred places of the castle she inhabited.

Tissaia looked him in the eye, hoping he could not see that he had become intimidating, “What have you done with her?”

“What does she matter?” They let her go, “When you could become my wife, my Queen, my Empress? As I offered you so many years ago.” In her head a tiara appeared, her simple and modest attire transforming into a magnificent blue ball gown, with a boat neckline and a low back, her hair in ringlets against her back, in her left ring finger a white gold wedding band.

“What- have- you- done- with- her?” She took off the ring and without even glancing at it, the Arch-mistress threw it to his feet.

“I can give you your happy ending. Only I can make it true.” Scenes that should have made her heart flutter appeared in her mind’s eye and instead of having the intended effect, she had to rest one hand against the wall to try to cope with her insides twisting, threatening to make her vomit.

With her other hand against her lips, she asked again, “What- have- you- done- with- her?”

He lifted the train of his cape reveal her naked and brutalized body, runes carved in every piece of skin she had and Tissaia, holding her skirts with two hands she raced towards her, arriving a second too late, to her beautiful eyes closing.

This wasn’t happening, not again, Gods, not again… It was one of her many nightmares, the last she had seen her they were in the vault as the sun rose in the sky. Nothing but a nightmare. This was not real.

But the pain she felt was.

She stood up, approaching the Emperor with her head bowed, her blue eyes darkened with bloodlust, tricking him into believing it was a different kind of want and the room around them changed.

With her hand she pushed him into the mattress, straddling him, her face blank as he smiled, victorious at last, after all, he had tried to court her since she had ascended. Her hands on either side of his head, a conjured dagger in her left one. Her lips against the shell of his ear, her voice dripping with poison, “This was your _greatest fucking mistake.”_

His body was frozen by chaos as she stabbed him, again and again until she was sure there wasn’t a spot on his chest that hadn’t been punctured, however, she had to make this last, Tissaia couldn’t have him die quickly from blood loss, so with words on Elder his blood began to clot.

About to start again she heard Yennefer’s voice, which pulled her out of her frenzy.

_“I won’t go on without her.”_

She was in one of the student’s rooms. Sabrina and Triss were holding their sibling as she clutched at their skirts like a child, her eyes bruised from how much she had cried, sitting ungracefully on the floor.

They had told Yennefer her diagnosis and she had collapsed.

╶

Five minutes, the blue-eyed mage had only wanted five minutes more of stabbing Stregobor. She never asked for anything and all she wanted to get back to doing that.

White, pure white, the bloody scenario changing again and the violet-eyed mage shielded her eyes with her hand as they adjusted to the intense light that surrounded her.

Her eyes finally focused and they rested on a petite frame she could easily recognize, “Tissaia...”

“Yennefer...” What left her throat was more like a dry sob and for once, it didn’t matter how pathetic it made her sound.

They had found each other.

They ran towards the other, their hands connecting for a minute before they were both yanked apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: LMFAO DID YOU HONESTLY BELIEVE THE RITUAL WAS THE ONLY TEST???? MY POOR READERS...
> 
> In the next chapter they wake up in the real world. To a week of not being able to be more than ten feet from the other, so yeah...
> 
> And Tissaia is still pissed at Yennefer for going behind her back. But also, no more crying, 'cause they're The Most powerful bitches and they have already wept what they needed to. 
> 
> We also LOVE going through the stages of grief ALL FUCKING WRONG.
> 
> These are the sentiments/meanings behind the spells (aka actual Latin I butchered so it'd sound more like Elder);  
> Clysedio - To shield. (Clypeus.)  
> Reveresco - To resurge. (Reviresco.)  
> Bullatum - An invisible bubble that alllows you to see and breathe. (Spiritus bulla.)


	12. XII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Margarita has finally joined the gang, thank tumblr for that.

_XII._

After seven days of waiting, Triss and Sabrina had expected the news of the two sorceresses awakening to be delivered in any other way that wasn’t Coral and an unknown woman portalling into their room at five in the morning, demanding they get dressed as fast as possible, because they had to stop Tissaia from setting the tower where her chambers were in, on fire, in fifteen minutes.

Weirdly specific as it was, it only served to drain all the colour from their faces. Few times had they seen their mentor truly incensed and whilst the newly formed couple were both close to their first centenarian, the memories they had of her exploding in murderous rage were not nice ones and had made even the blonde, cold as she was, not leave her room in fear for days at a time.

Rita, who had been somehow been convinced by the redhead to return to Aretuza after her showdown with two of the members of the Chapter when Stregobor first announced he was systematically murdering babies, was clutching the flask she held on her hands like a lifeline, blue eyes bloodshot. They recognized her from the tattoo she had on one of her hands, an extremely rare piece which meant that if Elves were to see her, she was not to be attacked.

They almost tripped over themselves in their haste to put a dress on and when that failed due to their anxious state, they decided on just throwing on robes and with nothing but their nightgowns and those on, (Triss grabbing Yennefer’s choker from the nightstand at the last minute), the frowning woman with platinum blonde locks portalled them outside of the Rectoress’ door.

She extended her expectant hand to Coral, who placed the necklace in her palm and the mage nodded her head _'Thank you.'_ , proceeding to chant in Elder, “Not to sound like an idiot, but why didn’t we just portal inside the room?” Said Sabrina, rubbing her eyes, her emotions overwhelming her as she felt again for the first time in a month the energy she had as young associated with care and protection.

The redhead frowned, her lips on a thin line as her eyes glazed over for the briefest of moments, before she regained her normal, overly calm demeanour, “Tissaia’s magical core is fully restored… which means the only way we can enter is by having someone that’s her kin take down the wards with the pendant.”

“Margarita and she are related?” The brunette piped, staring at the older woman’s back to wait until she was done to try and find some resemblance. The face that she remembered from some moments earlier in her room did share the same icy blue eyes she knew so well, if only duller, somehow.

“I’m casting a spell, I’m not deaf, girl.” Triss blushed and the other sorceress’ hands continued to move in complex motions, choosing to instead now cast the enchantment wordlessly. Rita then explained her relation the Arch-mistress to them in an amused, if somewhat bitter tone, “We are. I am the Viscountess’ cousin by natural birth, which means that the Marquess had a bastard.”

“She was nobility?” The words left the brunette in an undignified and excited squeal that made the woman chuckle, her cheeks turning almost purple from the shame of displaying such emotion to a complete stranger, as she was always been taught _not_ to do. Sabrina extended her arms and hugged her, letting her hide her face in the crook of her neck.

“Oh, the secrets from her past we could tell you, sweet pea.” The door opened to reveal a furious, small woman, who appeared to have just woken up in that exact second, getting out of bed to take from next to her a heavy book, nevertheless, Yennefer was fast to respond, rolling off the bed and onto the floor just in the nick of time, the tome hitting the spot her head had been at.

They entered her chambers without ceremony, her gaze fixed on the two that had been her students, blue eyes cold and violent as the raven-haired mage joined them in reclining against the wall.

The redhead sat in what had been their sibling’s designated chair, both hands folded neatly in her lap as Rita paced the room, picking up this and that before putting it back purposely in a different place.

Tissaia locked eyes with the three of them, glaring in such a way that would have made them tear up if they had been adolescents.

The air that surrounded her was crackling with chaos, her hands shaking with the effort to contain it mostly within her, “You stole from me.” They would have preferred that her anger was louder, like that of some people they knew, yet her hissed whispers were all more dangerous than anyone screaming at the top of their lungs.

Rita snorted, opening the drawer where she knew the Rectoress kept her stock of opioids, conjuring a pipe and taking from one of the bottles the most potent one, which was rare and costly to find outside of Aretuza.

She took a drag, a half-smirk forming on her face before she gibed, “They took initiative!” Blowing the smoke in her face, she decided to add insult to injury, forming the vapour into a _‘T’_ , knowing how her cousin had never managed to make even a circle.

“You defied my orders by actively using the necklace and the ring.” The object flew from callused hands towards her with such force that Rita muttered a curse before healing the skin, she knew a rash would form on her palm if she neglected it now.

The blonde, blue-eyed sorceress rolled her eyes, knowing that the woman she was provoking would only get rougher from here on out and for once on her side was the redhead, who had told her she needed to make her snap. Margarita had seized that rare opportunity with childish glee.

“Girls, you’re going places. You three get things done!” While she might not be drunk, after so many years of indulging in that sweet vice, she wasn’t sure if the poison ever left her bloodstream anymore. Rita’s theory only confirmed in moments like this, where she showed the outside world that she was half-mad and quick to react, a thousand scenarios all playing out in her mind’s eye.

Tissaia’s eyes narrowed. The magic around the brunette becoming more visible as her temper was tested further. Her hands were in white-knuckled fists, her voice authoritarian, demanding a cease to the nonsense around her and failing, as she did so very few times, “You tried to stage a coup by murdering Stregobor- and failed.”

“As if you didn’t try to kill him two decades after the Chapter was formed for trying to blackmail you into marrying him.” It had been a nasty thing, for Coral and her to have to restrain the woman who had spent two centuries mastering her self-control and bitchiness to blow up so significantly, so transfixed on slitting his throat that in the end, it took six mages to stop her, “And in my humble opinion they only failed because that mask of the stupid old fool suits him too well.”

“Rita.” Her tone was warning her to stop, to stop pushing her limits, to stop mocking her before people that knew her as the unshakable and all knowledgeable woman that had taught them everything they knew. That wouldn’t do, every century or so someone had to remind her that at the end of the day she was nothing but flesh and bone, her mask a piece of art and as brittle as them all, “You abused the knowledge in the vault.”

“You have used blood magic when it’s suited you.” Tissaia opening her skin willingly after their enchantment had happened three times in their lifetimes that she knew of and those causes were worthy of it, for she was protecting those who needed it most or those she would never admit out loud she couldn’t lose. However, it didn’t change the fact that she had gone against what she had created. “Rita!”

The Arch-mistress could see in Triss’ eyes that there was something important they were hiding from her and without alerting her that she would, she intruded on her mind, dragging with extreme strength the memory that had caused the healer to bite the inside of her cheek, forwards. She saw it happen through the mournful eyes of the powerful woman she had helped her become, the speech that had rallied the people she governed to fight the way none of hers could, smothering the spark of pride that formed in her chest with her outrage and disappointment, “You exposed that Fringilla has dimetirium on a whim.”

“I thought you were kidding!” It was a shriek, high pitched and frightened, for she truly believed her friend had only been jesting with her emotions when she had recounted what had happened after Sodden. Only the Rectoress would be stupid and caring enough to try to drag one of her former protégés back from that level of corruption.

Rita actively had to stop herself from hyperventilating and dropping her façade, checking for herself that her only family besides Coral was cured.

Dimetirium poisoning was something she had never witnessed, still, the memories their own mentor had shown them had been enough to make it the one thing she was terrified of. And the two of them had once heard from Tissaia what the ritual entailed, her eyes going to the woman that had sacrificed so much to save the one person the Continent would collapse without.

In violet and defiant eyes, she found a look that she had long forgotten how it was to witness first hand. Love so pure and strong was something Rita had never searched for, never believing she would be able to keep it, saddened, though, that the person she knew needed it the most had never found it. Until now. They owed this girl a great deal.

Even so, Margarita had never shared that harmful ability of being able to repress herself, “We’re fucked, we’re absolutely fucked! It’s the end of the world as we know it! Coral, Tissaia, I love you both, nevertheless, I’m fleeing this shithole as soon as possible!”

“Shut- it.” Tissaia’s fingers were pinching the bridge of her nose so hard it would probably bruise, nonetheless, she moved all her focus to taking deep, long breaths that made the inferno on her veins a little more bearable, enough to not send her cousin flying against the wall.

“And you forced me to be part of a soul binding ritual.” The truths and the lies and the hurt had tired her still fragile body, her turmoil filled mind; exhaustion she knew as well as any of her former lovers, just not the emotional kind.

“That is kind of fucked up, but do go on, act all saintly.” When the words left her mouth, she was already refilling the pipe. Rita had taken, if her mind served her right, which was unlikely, all the same, that wasn’t here nor there, about a hundred gold coins’ worth in drugs. Now, if they added that to the five hundred years of debt and the _‘They’re going to kill me if I don’t pay._ ’ money she owed her, they would probably have enough to buy several castles.

“Margarita!” Things were now just getting interesting as Tissaia had a long elegant finger pointed at her face, petite frame shaking from the effort of restraining her magic.

Her own eyes stared back at her and that fuelled her bravado, after fifty years of self-imposed isolation she was cashing in on all the things they hadn’t done and the arguments they hadn’t had, "I’m not your bloody pupil, don’t try to shush me. For fuck’s sake, you desperately need to get laid.” Rita mirrored her stance, jaw clenched and a straight spine.

For all that they were different, at their core they were extremely similar, they just chose the extremes of each path when it came down to it. Two sides of the same coin or something witty like that.

“I- said- shut- up!” The three gobsmacked mages that had watched the entire thing were sure this was it, simultaneously drawing their chaos forth at the same time, mouths slightly agape because they had no way to know if this was only one of the most fantastical dreams. This certainly didn’t feel like it was entirely real.

They had never seen Tissaia openly mocked before, her authority defied by anyone that wasn’t a member of the Chapter, much less her own family, not that they knew she had any. Rita was playing with wildfire and she was about to get them all burned, _“What the fuck was Coral thinking?”_ They said, telepathically, in unison.

“AND I SAID I REFUSE TO!” When she finished yelling at her, a rather powerful jinx was thrown her way and having anticipated that she had a shield up to protect herself with before it hit her. It deflected the blow towards the cabinet next to her, slicing the oak in six parts, quite possibly damaging it beyond repair and Rita’s first instinct was to save the very important herbs that were housed there, lest they burst into flames.

“Look at that! Yennefer, is it?” She commented as she ransacked the drawer, putting the bottles that were small enough in her pockets, containing the maniacal laughter that would make Tissaia attack her with her hands and not her chaos.

Turning to face her as she wiped her hands on her skirts, the mage continued, “Oh, darling, you must know that a side effect of the ritual is that she’s going to be more impulsive, as I assume you are since normally she would have only verbally attacked me.” With her nose, she motioned to where her cousin was, “You will be more obsessive, as she is.”

Tissaia’s face was hidden, covered between her two palms and she was sitting at the edge of the bed, eyes unblinking as she stared at the bits of the floors she could see through the gaps of her fingers. Astounded that for the first time since before her soul… What? The Rectoress didn’t have the energy for labels. She had lost control and that was worse than being stabbed in the gut again, “Do you feel better now, you controlling bitch?”

“I ruined an Elven made cabinet.” Coral had to admit, that there was probably something in the blood they shared since she knew no other living humans that had the natural predisposition to be as thick as they possibly could be for the sake of it. Still, it had been necessary to test how deep Yennefer’s influence ran before she lost her temper in the dangerous political games that would follow.

The medium loathed with all her being the scenes she had to stage and they often robbed her of sleep, nonetheless, she had been burdened with purpose and it was her sacred duty to intervene.

“That’s what matters to you, after half a century of not seeing me?” There was mischief in her blue eyes as she crouched in front of the Arch-mistress and poked her shoulder several times. After not getting a verbal or physical response she walked up to the redhead, palm extended the same way it had been an hour earlier, “Pay up.”

“You do deserve it, though.” The sorceress frowned and glowered at her in the harshest way she could, offended on behalf of her best friend and regret obscured the glimmer in her eyes for a minute, “I owe you what? Ten gold coins? What does it matter? You will only spend them on crappy alcohol.” Even so, they had a rivalry that had begun since coming to Aretuza and Rita wasn’t about to apologize when she had scored such a big victory.

Margarita could feel her judging stare on her back, “Don’t give me that look, Tissaia, it is only you that’s making such a big fucking mess of things that all turned out in your favour.” Pocketing the money and making her way towards the vanity, the mage sat down, beginning to braid her hair, “You should be thankful they have the bollocks you pompous idiots lack.”

“…Of course.” She stared at her hands, longing for the first time in centuries to rip the skin open, to see if the feelings would leave with the blood, as they had before, “How could I expect you to understand? Cynical, contemptuous, as you are?”

The sorceress scoffed, working out the tangles in her locks, not deigning it worthy to turn to look at her, more interested in the things she could do to her hair with all the beautification potions she knew her cousin to possess for important affairs, “Understand what?”

“That the two girls I raised _as my own_ and the one I never let myself be close to, no matter how much it hurt, for _obvious reasons_ , all put themselves in _mortal danger_ for a _one in a million chance_ of saving me! When it was _I_ that should be protecting _them!”_ Tissaia dug her nails into her palms, pressing down hard.

 _“That Yennefer_ _fucking died in my arms,_ _you stupid twat! You absolute piece of shit!”_ Rita had been made aware of the first part when her friend had explained things, however, the mage had skipped over the whole ‘the love of her life died in her arms and she somehow managed to tell Destiny to fuck off’ part.

Shit, what a big fucking mistake Margarita had just made. Shit, shit, _shit._ She stood up from where she had been, crossing her arms, a vicious glare directed the medium’s way, because they both knew, that had if she had aware of that fact, she would have never pushed her _this_ hard, “Coral…”

“I’m sorry.” Running her hands through her red hair, she sighed, admitting to her weakness with a bowed head, ashamed at the harm she had caused by trying to protect someone she frantically wanted to have back, “I just couldn’t.”

Her voice turned into a tender thing, her hands reaching out to her, the sisterly affection she felt for her shining through, ready to beg at her feet or get cursed into spending weeks in the infirmary, if necessary, “Ti-” A raised hand stopped her. 

“Get out. All of you.” The two older sorceresses both dragged the girls by the hand towards the door, knowing just who the Rectoress could become if that wicked part she hid so deep within herself ever rose to the surface, but they refused, the anguish the felt at leaving their mother figure at that moment palpable in the air.

 _“GET OUT!”_ A black mist slammed the door open, pushing them all out, burning the unprotected skin it came in contact with to the point they would all need herbal compresses. So strong that it slammed Sabrina and Triss, who were distracted placing the choker on olive hands, against the stone of the wall outside her chambers, their arms taking most of the damage.

And then the door closed.

“I- I can’t.” The brunette couldn’t look at her, at the emotions that swam in those deep pools, worse, was knowing that everything was still so raw between them that her emotions flowed to her end of the bond. Fresh and new, waiting to make them whole for the rest of their lives and she couldn’t cope, after five centuries of constantly quieting her own heart, to have it in display against her will.

The raven-haired woman crossed the space that separated them in an instant, grabbing her hand and holding on like a vice, because they needed each other now more than ever, no matter how hard she tried to deny it, to cling to the skin of the Ice Queen she had so carefully perfected, until it blended with her own, “Tissaia.”

“Not now, Yennefer.” The Arch-mistress’ voice was tired, slow, the words begging for something, anything, an outlet. Salvation, perhaps, was not so easily achieved when the person you had given everything to could not accept that they were worthy of such a gift, what should be a kind, loving thing, turning into stone, into the weight it was supposed to lift.

For once, it was a good thing she was so damn stubborn.

Yennefer pulled her against her chest, trapping her partner in her arms until all she could do was hit her with balled fists, her teeth gritted, for all that they had cried, had drained them for at least a few years of the ability to do so again. The force she employed made it easier to continue the assault on the floor, though, so she guided the brunette down, their shifts polling at their waist in this new position.

In her embrace she held all the things Tissaia De Vries had been; the frightened child, the broken girl, the dedicated student, the bitter mage, the powerful member of the Chapter, the stern Rectoress and the Ice Queen. A woman that had severed parts of herself time and time again to survive the things she had seen and the ones she had lost. A list that was so contrite, so varied, it would only ever match her own.

They burned too bright or they destroyed too much. Everything or nothing. There was something in between they had never managed to reach and maybe, just maybe, they were missing each other from the start.

Balance.

Her head nestled comfortably against her chest, the sorceress found something better than opioids to calm the storm in her soul; the beating of her heart, constant and steady next to hear ear had soothed her the way the best drugs she could find had never been able to. Her senses all basking in the sheer rightness that was having Yennefer’s body against her own, her whole world reduced to lilac and gooseberries.

Tissaia pulled back, no longer ashamed or crippled by the vulnerability she was letting show in her blue eyes and her palm cupped her olive cheek, her thumb caressing the soft skin, her expression soft, awed, when the mage all but melted into it, “Thank you, for all you sacrificed to save me.”

The Arch-mistress opened her other hand to reveal the pendant, her palms bearing the testament of her anger, the marks of her sharp nails against the skin steadily transforming from red to blue. Letting go of her, she stroked the metal, the bumps and the lines she was so familiar with.

Yennefer took it from her, fastening the chain around her neck, her touch lingering in the curve of her neck when she was finished before she passed her the choker she was rarely seen without, urging her to do the same, “I know we’re all dressed up when we leave for court, but I never felt like this only meant that.”

“It wasn’t supposed to.” Her blue eyes examined the necklace, a sad smile on her lips as she remembered going back to the manor for the first time, salvaging what she could of her past, covering her mouth to stop herself from gasping when the piece of jewellery her mother had commissioned for her first birthday was found intact, “…It was yours.”

Tissaia crinkled her nose, for a moment it had fled her mind that thing they had was very much open, “The last memory of your mother.” With nimble fingers, she finished the task, not responding.

The brunette pulled an errant raven lock behind her ear and then she proceeded to then cup both of her cheeks, her eyes going to her lips before closing the space between them and the threads that tethered them hummed with joy.

It was soft, unbelievably so. They liked pain, still, somewhere along the way the necessity to know tenderness too, only with the other had grown, a seedling that had been nurtured on poison and longing, growing to be a perfect mix of the two.

Her lips were moving against Yennefer’s in harmony, as if this had happened many times before and it had, in dreams, they dare not remember until now.

Even so, they were greedy and when they parted, both gasping for air, eyes opening in a careful manner, Tissaia made them both stand up, throwing the raven-haired sorceress on the mattress and straddling her, getting rid of their shifts with a wave of her hand. She then memorised the mage’s body, the one she had had so many fantasies about.

Then her mouth went to her neck, sharp teeth biting down, before licking the spot that would bruise, the woman under her moaning, one hand tracing her spine while the other kept her face against her flesh. Tissaia growled as she descended towards her breast, pupils dilating even more when she saw the rune, _“Mine.”_

“Yours.” The Arch-mistress licked her nipple and caressed the other until they were both impossibly hard and releasing the one she had been sucking with a _‘pop’,_ "Yours." The brunette noted that her violet eyes were closed, her eyelashes fluttering like butterflies, such fierce fondness surged in Tissaia’s chest it became hard to think, so instead, she kissed her eyelids with care, _"Yours."_

Her fingers went to her folds to find the violet-eyed woman soaked and the whimper that left her partner when she rubbed her clit was music to her ears, her hips buckling, seeking friction. One finger in and she arched her back, “Move, dear.” A second one as Yennefer began fucking herself with her fingers, moaning as her eyes snapped open and she raised her leg, bending it, so Tissaia could grind against it.

The younger mage hid her flushed face in the crook of her neck as she began to move back and forth, the tightness in her belly building up, seventy-five years of complicated feelings about to explode and this was only magnified by the bond.

Tissaia felt it all, the desire, the care, the unadulterated want of _everything_ ; her days, her nights, her smiles, her thoughts, her admiration, her passion and her love.

Of course, the only person stupid enough to not understand she had it since the moment she cut her flesh to save her future was Yennefer and Gods above a dry sob left them both. They stared at one another as happiness filled their chests.

Love, love, _love._

Enough to burn an army of thousands to the ground because she asked. Enough to want to live after they had lost themselves so many times. Enough to split their souls and their magic to share it. Enough to defy the Goddess of Death, because they deserved the chance to right the wrongs their pride and stubbornness had caused.

They slowed down their pace because it dawned on them both that whilst they had fucked their way across the Continent, this was the first time in their very long lives that they were making love.

Their eyes connected as they bubble burst and they were torn apart from the inside, pleasure like they had never felt before flowing through their veins.

When they returned from their high, she stared into violet eyes before peppering her face with kisses, “I love you, Yennefer.”

It had been a lie, yes, indeed the did have a few more tears to cry, but along with the many firsts that morning, they were of contentment, “I love you too, Tissaia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Tissaia is a closeted softie AND WE ALL KNOW IT.
> 
> *insert winking emoji here* ...Smut!!!!


	13. XIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Rita has no filter, Yennefer can't cope with not being the only person around that's messy.

_XIII._

When she woke the dying light of the sun was shining on them, soft pinks and harsh oranges against their skin and all Yennefer could think about was how Tissaia was breathing deeply, her face calm and her chestnut locks feathered on the pillow her head rested on.

She was more beautiful in her sleep than she was awake, when the burden of her power couldn’t reach her. Unbothered by the ravaged world that awaited their return, that needed her almost as much as she had grown to discover she did.

In the fortress they were in Fringilla couldn’t touch her, harm her and once again she regretted leaving the castle for so many years, her true home was wherever she decided to go, nonetheless, Aretuza would always be special.

Maybe after the war was over, they could divide their time between one of their homes and the school, since she didn’t want to continue teaching full time as she had before. And curiosity had always been a quality of hers, she wanted to see the De Vries manor, also, nobles rarely had just one house and to her understanding, she had been the only heir.

Her blue eyes opened slowly, drowsily and she smiled at her, a precious thing. The violet-eyed mage extended her hand, mapping her features with tenderness and care like she might disappear if her touch wasn’t feather-light, the pads of her fingertips stopping in her lower lip before she kissed her.

When their lips met the brunette let out a sigh and a small moan as she grabbed her by the nape of her neck and the other grasped her waist, her flesh hot.

“TISSAIA! HONEY, OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR!” The knocking on the wood followed an incessant and unpausing rhythm, the sound upsetting them and forcing them to stop.

The raven-haired woman groaned; however, her mouth was quickly covered by a pale hand, her pointer finger against her lips, telling her to stay quiet. Knowing them they would probably leave if they got no answer and after all, with the pendant in her possession they could no longer barge in, her wards would take hours to dismantle properly and if they made any mistakes, they would need medical attention.

Yennefer took one on the pillows and pressed it against her face, counting in her mind all the reasons why assassinating the only living family of her partner was something that would eventually come between them, even if at the present moment their homicidal intent was shared.

“Rita, good Gods, don’t scream.” Fumed Coral, covering her ears.

“Are you sure you’re related?” Outside Sabrina queried, looking at Triss who just shrugged. It was nigh unfathomable to imagine that two women that were so different in every aspect that defined them could share the same blood, that they could be relatives.

Rita stopped pounding on the wood for a moment, crossing her arms and glancing down her nose at the two girls, blue eyes sizing them up. Her mouth twisted into an ugly, thin line. It wasn’t the first time she had been questioned about it and it never failed to incense her, to make her remember all the times she was humiliated by her uncle, the way she had been punished for playing with the Viscountess.

Margarita may be all the things that her cousin was taught as the only legitimate heir to their incredibly vast fortune and lands not act as, nevertheless, if she wanted, she could play the proper dignitary, the prim lady, just as well, perhaps even better. Having been born in September and she in the fucking winter equinox, had her father bothered to have her naturalized, everything would have been rightfully hers.

Still, it wasn’t fair of her to unload her anger over her continued inferiority complex on the women that had treated her like she had been here from the beginning and so she didn’t say what was truly on her mind.

“Where exactly do you think she got her good looks from?” She retorted and they couldn’t tell if the sorceress was joking or not, her attitude giving nothing away that would aid them in deciding.

The redhead scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Both your fathers looked like toads, don’t even try it.” She enunciated her words with a _‘snap’_ of her gloves against her palm.

They had accompanied Tissaia to the destroyed mansion when it was being reconstructed and the remaining portraits there showed two men that could have very well been survivors of a nasty plague or were individuals constantly hit with a frying pan in the face.

Coral remained humourless as Rita gasped, her hand over her heart as she balanced the plate with the other. The Rectoress possessed an abnormally sweet tooth and bribing her was, in their collective opinion, the only thing that wouldn’t get them hexed further. All it had taken to have her favourite pastry to be made were some very mild threats of her displeasure at being denied by her employees and some flirting on her side. The only person from the Chapter that bothered to pay living wages was Marchioness De Vries.

“You’re supposed to back me up.” The blue-eyed sorceress accused and then the two old friends proceeded to engage in a staring contest, like children, until the redhead huffed and went to the door to look for weaknesses they could exploit. She had been persistent that their charges needed to test the bond more that same day, not that any of them knew what she meant by that.

“Lets-” Triss raised her hand, no letting her voice what in her mind probably was a great idea when in reality it would probably get her murdered by the same woman that had raised them, her rotting body tossed somewhere she wouldn’t be able to find her. A quiet and quick death, because Tissaia did care for them, but death nonetheless.

“No, Sabrina, we’re not raiding the kitchens again.” Not for alcohol nor for anything else, the assistants were starting to recognize them and they had run out of excuses the week prior, eating their whole weight in snacks to celebrate that the ritual had been torture, even so, worth it in the end.

“Listen, she shares a lot of information sober, just imagine what she says whilst drunk.” Her point may have been valid for any other person that wasn’t nearly as dangerous and it was quite possibly the worst course of action they could take if it involved the Arch-mistress.

Tissaia was fiercely protective of her private life, most of all her past. What she had shared with them so far were inconsequential facts and until she changed her mind they would have to remain so. 

The brown-eyed mage was sure she wouldn’t approve of Rita drunkenly telling all that she knew, making indecent comments.

“I know you, okay? Trying to blackmail her will get you killed.” Sabrina had dirt on everyone in the Brotherhood except Stregobor since he usually bothered to permanently quiet his witnesses, for if it happened to be necessary to threaten them.

The Rectoress, though, it was like the first two centuries of her life, before she was known as the all-powerful and knowledgeable sorceress that transformed little girls into deadly mages, had vanished into thin air, all her tales gone, her footsteps erased like she never existed before that.

“I’m her favourite.” No, her favourite had clearly been Yennefer, who got away with almost murdering her, with lying and having an affair with Stregobor’s puppet, nevertheless, it didn’t hurt anyone if she repeated it to herself until she could almost believe she was. Sabrina would still never admit that out loud, not even under torture.

Coming from a home with so many siblings, she had always wanted to be the best at everything, so when she turned her mother fat by magical means because that daft cow wanted to sell her for the impressive dowry she had been offered, all she could feel was euphoria. The happiest day of her life, indeed.

In Aretuza she had been the best, not even Fringilla matched her, with that useless hand of hers, till the violet-eyed girl decided to get her head out of her arse and she ended up being third in class.

Triss took her hand in hers, interlocking their fingers and frowning prettily, “I’m not becoming a widow because you want to be a reckless idiot.” A slight blush overcame her freckled cheeks, her eyes shining with affection, making the blonde want to kiss her and she would have if familiar eyes weren’t on them.

“I like you.” Her head was tilted, a mischievous smirk on her face and for all that she was disordered at that moment Rita seemed as reliable as her cousin, her energy exuding for the first time a fragile and cautious calm, “You would have been my best friend if I wasn’t four hundred years your elder.”

That would have been a mess, they would have lighted shit on fire for the sake of it and terrorized the staff, the sheer limitlessness of the mayhem they would have created was astounding just to think about. They would have ended up as eels if not for the amount of chaos inside them and the promise of something more in their futures, even so, she smiled at her. It was a nice sentiment.

“You stopped ageing the day you learned to talk.” Coral retreated from the door, where they could hear Tissaia and Yennefer inside bickering over something, unintelligible curses and hissed words reaching their ears as they all paused to stare at the wood, light coming from the hinges. As fast as it had started it ended, absolute silence from their part reigning once again.

Rita positioned herself in front of it one hand on her hip, “A toddler can’t fuck as many-” The door blasted open, revealing a very angry Tissaia, her frame covered with a red robe, lips pursed and her blue eyes violent.

“I brought you cake.” Rita pushed the pastry on her face, almost dropping the fork; the medium had told her to take two, nonetheless, she had been the victim of a black eye a few years after they weren’t turned into eels, the Arch-mistress didn’t share her food or anything else of hers if she could help it, “Sorry for being a bitch?”

“What flavour?” The sorceress raised her eyebrow, inspecting the gateau, eyeing it suspiciously like it might make her sick and yes, the blonde had played that prank on her before, except she had spent the last two centuries without having such a blatant death wish.

Margarita had thanked all the Gods she knew and the ones she did not for the fact that Aretuza’s stores were always magically replenished, which meant that they never lacked for anything, those Gods damned berries she liked were hard to come by on a very good day, “Gooseberries.” The woman was an encyclopaedia of trivial knowledge, but it served her well enough in moments like this.

Tissaia practically yanked the plate from her hands, walking into her chambers and heading for the bed, sitting on it with the grace of a cat after arranging the pillows so they supported her back, “Come in.” Duplicating the utensil with magic, she passed the silver fork to Yennefer, who took a modest bite after her partner began eating.

Her mouth opened in shock in a most undignified manner; that girl may be the love of her life, yet this was something Rita never thought she’d see in her very long existence, “She’s sharing the fucking cake!” Coral slapped her in the arm, her hand rubbing the red mark that she had been left with, glaring viciously at her in return.

All the while Sabrina failed to conceal the cackling the exchange between them produced from her, making the redhead resume the attack just once more because she felt like being petty.

“Stop hitting me!” Her target shirked, turning her annoyed gaze on the green-eyed sorceress. With a laugh of her own Coral addressed the frustrated couple that stared at them as though they had gone mental in the span of a few hours.

“You two have to learn to control the bond.” The psychic waved her hand in the general direction of the burnt cabinet, absolutely destroyed after her sibling’s outburst.

They heard the cutlery hit the porcelain, Tissaia rising from the mattress to inspect the damage and what remained of the piece of furniture collapsed under her hands, which almost fell on top of her feet, “What’s there to control? She was provoked.” Yennefer replied.

The redhead was too old to deal with people this thick, how could the Rectoress not murder any of her current students or former ones was beyond her.

“She could have maimed Rita severely.” Coral explained, taking a large piece of wood and expecting what remained of it, whatever spell had been sent her way was enough to have permanently disfigured her, to have killed her, if there weren’t trained physicians and a fully stoked infirmary four floors down.

Upon further inspection, she decided the curse had been fuelled by fire and not lightning, as was usual for her sister. That was worrying in more ways than one if they had access to not only the other’s magic and influence, but to their _core_ , then only Gods knew what could happen in the event that the other’s life was threatened.

Could their survival instinct overcome reason?

Tissaia had already done once an impossible thing to save her and it mattered not that it had been a conscious decision, not when they were now two in one. Still, for a reason, she didn’t know it hadn’t corrupted her in the least, as crossing the line between the mortal realm and the spiritual often did.

Would Yennefer be enough to bring her back, or the other way around if they lost themselves to the darkness in a moment of desperation? A bloody act to continue their existence? More power was about to run through their veins, what would happen then?

The redhead forgot to breathe for a moment, as the stone itself whispered to her; _“Ember Queens.”_

Coral summoned forth her best mask and lifted Rita's sleeve, her arm still bandaged because of the fog, to make her point, “It isn’t like she doesn’t deserve it.” As with many of Yennefer’s comments, it came out before she could stop herself, staring at the half-eaten cake, as to not cross glances with any of them.

The sorceress then debated whether to eat what remained of the pastry, deciding against it on the fact that it wasn’t mean to placate her, perhaps now that they were together, she could intimidate the staff into making it again.

“Just for that, I’m not attending the wedding.” Rita, after roaming this green and blue earth for so many centuries, knew better than take to heart the remarks of people she had recently irritated or offended and instead of dwelling on it she sat in the comfiest looking chair she could find.

“Wait, no. The ceremony, I’ll be at the toasting, there’s bound to be fancy and free alcohol. It’ll be a good opportunity to set Stregobor ‘accidentally’ on fire.” The last time she had attacked the sorcerer had been days before she left the castle after she learned what he had made of the prophecy. The blonde had been stopped once, however; she didn’t plan on failing at causing him major injuries again.

Rising from the bed too, Yennefer began to make it, checking several times that the edges were symmetrical, “How do you put up with her?”

Sabrina was about to comment on how her space had always been a fucking mess desired by rats until she bothered to use magic to clean it when Triss nudged her and shook her head. It appeared they didn’t yet notice their impact over one another, save for the most obvious displays.

“She’s my family.” Tissaia said it like it explained everything and maybe it did, there had been countless times where she had wanted nothing more but to smother the blonde with a pillow and she had lost count of how often it happened five years after they arrived at the school. Sometimes their disagreements had ended in physical altercations, nevertheless, on her defence, patience had never been her strong suit.

Taking from the floor the book she had thrown at the raven-haired woman, “Just for the record, I know everything you did at court. _Everything-_ and there’s no shortage of things with which I can ruin your life. And I will.” The Arch-mistress made her way to the bathroom, retrieving more comfortable clothes on the way and closing the door behind her.

“You’re a bloody idiot.” Yennefer accused, they should have known that obsessive as their former mentor had always been and the sheer number of attempts that had been made on her life when they were pupils, her wards would let them hear perfectly what they had said outside their chambers, “Honestly.” Added Triss.

“She has balls.” Piped Rita, smoothing the silk of her skirt over her legs and she couldn’t stop the severe frown that came over her face, as she wondered what the girl had done. Similar as they appeared to be it was possible that the information her cousin had could indeed ruin her life, “But do listen to her, darling. Our dear Rectoress is a vengeful creature.”

“Remember Feyre?” Oh, that poor idiot had humiliated Tissaia after she had been moved to a new court, in that dreadful, pitiful, boring party they had all reluctantly attended. She didn’t last very long after her affair with the King she served had been outed by the angry and resentful sorceress. They were not courtesans; the Royal family was strictly off-limits.

It hadn’t been nice, then again, she should have known better than to follow a pompous idiot’s advice. It was repulsive the number of times Stregobor had tried to control Tissaia after they ascended and it also happened to be a miracle, she hadn’t killed him yet.

“Yes.” Monotoned Coral, if she had stopped at just that, with that shame, it would have been a fair trade, but she just had to get her exiled when she tried to gain her way back to glory with blood. 

Her eyes went wide as she inspected the expressions of the only two women who knew her mother figure almost as well as Yennefer, “What happened to her?” Queried Triss and they didn’t turn to look at her, instead looking at each other before turning their heads sharply.

“You do not want to know.” Intoned the redhead. The Arch-mistress was known to be ruthless, to get her way without care for who she crushed under her boot as long as she considered the outcome worth it, nonetheless, none of her girls needed to know the lengths to which she would go.

“We don’t talk about her victims after the deed is done.” Shuddered Rita.

She splashed water on her face, she had not lost control like that since some noble had tried to fondle her. At least, Tissaia hadn’t killed him, thank the Gods.

Exiting the room with silk pants, a fresh blouse and her robe tied securely, she sat at the edge of the mattress, “Do you have any ideas, Coral?”

“It should be tangible; you should start by meditating.” When the vault had been trashed, from the ruins she found a booklet that contained a few more facts about the bond than what had been previously known. Coral passed the brunette the journal, “Trying to find it.”

“Meditation?” The mage opened the chronicle, examining what little information there was in it. It wasn’t written in Elder, which meant the author was most likely the people Sir Ian had been referencing in his book. Most of the words were faded, still, some of it was legible, “That’s bull-” Sensing the Arch-mistress’ divided attention Yennefer paused.

“What are you reading?” The raven-haired woman’s question was quickly answered, as the information she sought flowed through to her, all of what Tissaia had read and thought about flowing through to her and most of the new material made sense, like they already knew and couldn’t remember learning about it, “Where did you get that, Coral?”

“A bookshelf broke, it was inside of the wood. You two made a mess of that room.” One that had been awfully hard to right on her own. Spending three whole days of their mental trials, downing revitalising potion after potion, stealing them more often than not, so her reserves of chaos were enough to make it appear as though nothing had happened.

“We’re going to try.” Yennefer let herself fall headfirst into the mattress at the sound of Tissaia’s voice, letting out a pained sound when her nose was squashed, sitting and rubbing the spot as the other sorceress sighed and almost rolled her eyes at her antics.

Standing up and disappearing under her dressing screen, she took the tome that was where she usually folded her dirty laundry. Stopping in front of Rita she examined her, murmuring in Elder before going back to the bed, “Alright.”

Her cousin opened her mouth, but no sound came out, no matter that Rita had the great idea to begin cursing and screaming, “As a precaution.” The needed peace and silence if they were to find something, those two things were not something the woman ever practised.

“Don’t pout, it’s unbecoming.” The mage stopped, glaring at her and mouthing slowly; _‘Fuck you.’_ Tissaia was about to respond when the redhead slapped the back of her head. Not that Coral could be faulted, of course.

“Here, have this.” Defeated, Rita snatched the tome from the air, moving sideways so her legs dangled from the armrest, arching her eyebrow as a challenge and sinking further into the seat when she got no response. She licked her fingertips to aggravate the brunette, whose mouth momentarily twitched and opened the book that way, beginning to read.

Closing her eyes, the Arch-mistress felt the waves of chaos swirling around her, reaching for the tendrils that held her essence and following them inside herself. She was about to follow the path they made when she was distracted by a buzzing sound that irritated her, “Stop thinking.”

“Stop talking.” Retorted Yennefer.

Tissaia clenched her jaw and closed her eyes again, “If you focused, I wouldn’t have to chide you.”

“You don’t have to chide me, I’m not your student anymore.” She argued.

 _“I will have you on your desk, though. What a pretty sight you’d make.”_ The Rectoress’ cheeks flushed, she had had no idea all the fantasies the girl had harboured about that exact piece of furniture, even when she was still her mentee and the images that were being pushed into her mind were all the more appealing now that she knew just how soft her skin was to the touch, how it felt against hers and the sounds she made.

“As a pupil, you tried to get things done.” Her voice sounded like she was a cat that was being strangled and to Tissaia’s horror, Rita was looking at them both, most specifically her, with a knowing smirk, laughing soundlessly as she bowed her head to continue reading. Perhaps she really should let someone teach her a lesson the next time she owed mercenaries money. 

The raven-haired woman scrunched her nose, “That’s-”

The redhead took deep breaths and twisted her gloves, biting the inside of her cheek, ultimately failing to contain her anger, “Fine! We’re doing it my way!” The heels of her boots clashed menacingly against the stone, as she approached the bed, her teeth slightly bared.

“Shit.” Yennefer paled at that and tried to flee the bed only to be stuck to her place by magic.

“Coral.” Growled the brunette; Tissaia had never liked someone touching things or people she deemed as hers, she was as proprietorial as she was compulsive, but the redhead couldn’t care less about that when the two most accomplished sorceress she knew had achieved absolutely nothing.

“Shut it.” One of her hands on each of their solar plexus, her eyes glazed over and she pushed forward. Their shields were weak since they hadn’t been adjusted to match the bond and Coral began searching, their magic sending forth distractions to stop her.

“Mmm, yes, I can see it.” It was there, connected to their core; a piece of magical art, a testament to their sacrifice, their power and their commitment.

Love like that happened so rarely and though she knew not the reason why stories like theirs almost always ended in heroics and heartbreak. What a sick joke, to make a person need someone so much, to love them beyond time and space, only to lose them senselessly, “It’s like a rope. A thick, golden one.”

Coral moved around it, coming closer to the source to find it moulded in a way she had never seen before, even in her vast travels or her visions, the energy of it unexplainable with human words, “No. I can’t accurately differentiate where you start and she ends.”

“I saw it.” The Rectoress was slightly breathless, “Usual shields should suffice.” A stupid, reckless idea if Tissaia had ever had one, still, they went down like steel and the line that held them together refused to bend, tensing.

The pain was unbearable, like her organs were melting into a puddle inside her, making a pathetic whine leave her lips, her ears ringing. Her hand went to her chest, her thoughts muddled and her lungs aching as oxygen no longer came in.

“Fuck! What’s happening?” Sabrina tried to get Yennefer to look at her, but instead, her hand went to grasp hers, holding on so tight one of her knuckles _'popped'_ , her other one making gestures, trying to tell her something she couldn’t figure out.

“They’re choking.” Said Triss, perplexed at the way fingers were visible in their throats, imprints of a ghost touch on the epidermis, Yenna’s hands clawing at the invisible force to try to get rid of it.

Tissaia was trying to dismantle the barriers to no avail, her focus interrupted when she tried to suck breath in through her mouth, “As if they’re being strangled.”

“Lift the shields!” Coral screeched, as she saw their skin’s turn a light blue, her eyes darting between the two of them.

Running her hand over her face frustratedly she tried to intervene, her other palm on her friend’s solar plexus and she tried to search her once again, only to be pushed back, blood leaking through her nose as a result, “Lift them!”

Blue eyes went bloodshot, “I… can’t…”

“For fuck’s sake.” With her voice returned, Rita rose from her chair, conjured ice-cold water and soaked them both with a _‘splash’_ , her palms hovering over the crown of their heads.

Her cousin had to stop Yennefer from lunging for her, their wrestling match amusing to watch and it predictably ended with the older sorceress winning and violet, vicious eyes glaring daggers at her.

“It’s obvious. They can’t _separate_ , but they can _cloak._ ” Leaning against the wall, Margarita summoned a rose, plucking off its petals until there were none, the flower now looking dull, dying, “Shields aren’t flexible, they need to quiet it behind something that they can reach at any moment.” With her magic, they rose from the floor, making it whole, healthy, again and under the illusion she put on it, they could see the centre once more, without the bloom being broken.

Triss’ brown eyes widened, she would have never thought Rita to be the mage to remain calm and figure things out while the rest of them panicked with no idea of how to get things done, just escalating the situation with their own hysteria, “I may be a mess, but I’m an educated one.” The sorceress added.

“Who would have guessed?” Snorted Sabrina, resting her head on her partner’s shoulder, hugging her from behind. Green eyes taunting the older woman, as she kissed the brunette’s neck, who, shy as she was, squeaked like a mouse.

She pointed at her with the rose, “Listen here, you little shit-”

“I thought I was your best friend.” The girl pouted, a perfect recreation of the same expression she had used on her cousin and the woman pursed her lips, unwilling to reply. Rita was creating a monster and she refused to be bested by someone who had been conceived three hundred and seventy-five years after she had become a proper enchantress.

“Gods save us.” The violet-eyed woman grumbled, lying flat on the mattress, her right hand toying with her choker. Yennefer stared at the ceiling and rubbed her eyes when instead of seeing the black stone she saw the night sky, vaguely remembering having seen it in some other room.

The Rectoress hid her face in her hands, still recovering from whatever episode they had had, her chest aching every time the cool, night air entered her overworked lungs. Tissaia’s back hurt, too, she was fatigued, “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Try to rest.” Nodded Coral, her hands on her hips as she motioned to the rest of the group with a jerk of her head to vacate the premises.

“I’m taking this for all my troubles.” The blonde tucked the book under her armpit. Rita had rather liked it since it talked about Aretuza when it had been inhabited by Elves. Those beings had always intrigued her, to the point she had lived with some for a few years.

“That’s a first publication, Margarita! You already took all my opiates!” Tissaia looked up and followed them, her hair a mess, her robe sliding down on her right shoulder, walking fast to catch up with her cousin’s strides. Whereas the Rectoress had conserved her original height, the mage had adamantly refused to continue being a ‘tiny fucking thing that couldn’t reach the top of a shelf’ and this was not the first time she regretted her decision to stay the same.

“As if I give a fuck.” The blue-eyed mage closed the door on her cousin’s face, flinching when she heard her fist connecting with the wood savagely. Taking redhead’s hand, she began running for her chambers, leaving the two girls to possibly fight off a furious Arch-mistress, who was currently cursing her fleeing form in all the languages she knew.

Then the door slammed closed. Rita would make sure they had nice funerals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Rita and Tissaia literally can't be in the same room without eventually attacking each other somehow. Thank God (aka MyAnna Buring/Helena Bonham Carter) that the tower she lives in is only used by her. 
> 
> ...Is Aretuza somewhat sentient?


	14. XIV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Listen y'all, with this chapter, I've given you three pretty light ones, so things are gonna start getting violent, dark and angsty from now on. Prepare thoust hearts.

_XIV._

The first thing they regained was their health; the extensive trauma they had undergone erased from their bodies, even when the pain still lingered in the back of their minds, present in their dreams when they woke up screaming at night. Nonetheless, they ignored it, war had no place for weaknesses of that kind, Generals couldn’t falter at the sight of bloody destruction and violent massacres.

Then was their ability to cast spells with focused intent; no more poisonous mists or destroyed furniture and shocking displays of magic for the most part, but chaos gathered at their fingertips, manifesting in harmony, following their will and making it reality. Their power humming in their hearts, an extension of the beating of said organ, as it was supposed to be.

The one remaining problem was controlling their influence over one another, quieting the strings that tied them together, mind, body and soul, so the Rectoress could be near the hurricane that was Rita without drowning.

When there was too much noise in her mind she lashed out and it was easy for her to get overwhelmed, vulnerable as they both remained.

And they were running out of time, the Chapter expected the Arch-mistress back the next day and the other members would know something was wrong if the Ice Queen ended up the meeting by sending them to the infirmary.

Her patience wasn’t as strong as it had once been and Gods knew Stregobor saved his stupidest arguments for those exact moments.

Regrettably, no sorceress had come up with a way to effectively cloak the bond and though their control had reached a point where on normal circumstances they could mask the fact that the voice inside their heads would never again be alone in any way, in stressful situations it remained the same. Their tempers, their chaos, flared. Manifesting as corrosive explosions.

Tissaia had probably cursed her cousin more that week than even when they had lived together and it didn’t help that Yennefer tried to join in too when something particularly nasty was said about her partner. Thankfully, it always ended with someone stopping her. The Arch-mistress doubted that Margarita’s nose could survive the right hook she knew the violet-eyed woman to have.

At least Sabrina and Triss were enjoying the mayhem.

Coral, well, she had robbed her oldest friend of her flask to use it for herself.

Yennefer stared at the brunette, who was aggressively fluffing the pillows, confronted with another day stuck in her room with so many annoying and insistent individuals, “If I have to be near you cousin today, I might just flat out punch her.” She had come close once before her green-eyed sister twisted her hand so far backwards that the words that left her lips were in a language only the pair of cousins fluently spoke.

The one silver lining was that the raven-haired woman had been pleasantly surprised to find that the way the brunette drank her coffee was even better than all the brews she had ever tried.

She sipped again from her lover’s cup, raising one of her eyebrows as she watched the brunette’s shoulders tense. When exactly had she started mimicking her mannerisms? Not that the mage was complaining, they were rather lovely.

“We’re sorceresses.” The woman almost sighed, she had heard that line and the ones that followed many times before; _‘Honour is for idiots, furthering ourselves is our one and only faith’, ‘Always buy loyalty cheap-’,_ “I’ll hold her down while you hex her. A month stuck as a tiny human inside a jar should do her good. We can even make her little costumes.”

Tissaia De Vries. Rectoress of Aretuza.

The most powerful woman in the Continent, apart from Yennefer.

Who happened to have a wicked sense of humour underneath her unreachable persona and a facility for creating her own potions.

_Gods._

The Arch-mistress waved her pale hand in her general direction, “Get dressed. We’re getting out of here.”

If she was forced to endure more of what Rita considered to be wit, she might help Yennefer in throwing her down the top of the stairs. The Rectoress sighed, hiding her face in between her hands for a second as she tried to calm down. Clean hands. _Always._ That was one rule she tried to live by. If only the blonde didn’t make so hard for her to continue doing so.

“All of my clothes are in Rinde.” Tissaia opened the drawers that were on the side of the bed frame, taking out a pair of black breeches and two blouses, the first an emerald green and the second a crimson red. She passed the latter to Yennefer, “Use this.”

The sorceress ran her olive hands through the cloth, it was softer than anything she had ever touched.

Frowning, she held it against her boobs, “It won’t fit me, you’re quite-” She tried hard to not snicker yet it proved to be a lost cause.

“Don’t.” The brunette shut her up with a vicious glare, getting an adorable pout in return. Why did she think scrunching up her face like that was an appropriate apology?

“Are you a mage or not?” Realization dawned on her and her face lit up, almost childlike in her joy. Her heart wasn’t beating faster, it just wasn’t, she was not a teenager anymore... Gods-damn-it all.

In her indignation, it seemed Tissaia had huffed and neglected the changing of her clothes, which she found out by the confused stare of violet eyes on her form. She gathered on her arms the clothes in a rush and made her way for the bathroom, closing the door and changing there, tidying up the space somewhat when she was finished.

A portal was already waiting for her when she came out and they both stepped through it without leaving a warning for their family that they hadn’t been kidnapped. Alas, they were intelligent women and the chances of someone breaking into one of Aretuza’s most fortified chambers were slim to none, even smaller was that of overpowering them both.

She inhaled in the salty breeze, her heeled boots landing on black sand. Shielding her eyes, she turned her head and her hand went to her pendant, for the Rectoress already knew where they were; the De Vries manor was standing in all its glory three miles away.

“Shit.” Yennefer panicked. As the brunette bit down on her lower lip, she heard the buzzing of another portal come to life and the mage closed it with a clenched fist.

Tissaia extended her hand and took her lover’s, covering it with her other one. Her blue eyes honest, “It’s alright, they're long gone. Why are we here, though?”

She squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her that the ghosts that resided there couldn’t touch them, “This is the place I ran off to, with the Princess’ corpse.” The Arch-mistress hummed her understanding.

So, this was where she decided she couldn’t live the life she had been taught to want, after having a taste of it. How delightfully ironic.

Yennefer motioned to the mansion with her nose, letting go of her hand and tucking one strand of black hair behind the shell of her ear, “Every road I’ve ever taken has led me back to you.” Tissaia smiled, looping her arm through hers as they portalled themselves halfway to the gates of the mansion.

The closer they were, the more it became apparent to Yennefer that the mansion was under a heavy illusion spell, which she probably wouldn’t be able to feel if it weren’t for the bond and for how thick the air should have been with chaos, it felt as mild as the breeze around them. A spiderweb masterfully crafted, for it to feel and look so natural.

Her mouth dropped open, once the iron gates were unlocked and they stepped inside, “This isn’t a manor, it’s a fucking castle!” Of all of the ones she had visited or lived in, none of them could hope to compare to the grandeur of this one. Perhaps only Aretuza.

Up ahead she could see there was a fountain that could pass for a swimming pool. It was shaped like a square and in the base, there were rose bushes sculpted from white and rose gold, rubies on some of their thorns, glimmering beautifully in the sunlight. In the middle of it was an angel made of white marble, sitting in a tree trunk, holding a dagger in her right hand and cradling the world with her left one, which rested on her kneecap. In her eyes, there were sapphires encrusted into the iris. Wings tucked in, each feather incredibly realistic.

Past it and the gardens that outlined it, there stood the mansion, a massive building made of granite, detailed with quartz. Yennefer could count twenty-seven windows on the first floor, thirty-two on the second, the space between them of maybe two metres and that was just the part that was visible. She schooled her expression to blatant disinterest and asked; “Is that all?”

Tissaia, willing to play her game, smirked and began counting with her fingers, “There’s also the maze, two hours long if you know the way out. The stables, of course. The ‘official’ gardens. The hunting grounds, near them about thirty-five cottages to house the staff. A small church for their personal use. The greenhouse. The dungeons-”

The violet-eyed woman’s façade cracked for a bit, ideas coming to her that she could tell the Arch-mistress wholeheartedly disagreed with, “What do you have dungeons for?” The absolute and definitive _‘No.’_ that had filled the bond told her it was not for that.

“The Marquess and the Count liked to play with toys that could scream.” Her eyes became icy, the way they had been when she was all but telling Stregobor to fuck off the day before Sodden. So, that idea could be tossed to the fire and, after hearing that, she had lost all interest in it.

The brunette continued, eager to put that behind them, “Then there’s the ballroom, the treasury and my workshop.”

They started walking again, this time towards the front door and when Tissaia was about to knock on it, Yennefer murmured, “How did you accumulate this much wealth?”

The Rectoress steeled herself to give her partner the honest answer, “My family… there were good, the best, at taking and taking, until everything they touched crumbled to dust, add to that the fact that Royal Courts back then were extremely small and you get this.” She motioned with her hand to nothing in particular, but the mage understood.

The raven-haired woman was about to ask her about the fire when the door was yanked open by a man the same size as the Arch-mistress, who greeted them with the widest smile she had seen a human possess, “My lady! What a pleasure it is to see you safe and home!” He bowed, as was customary.

“We heard about the battle of Sodden, Mrs Magdelaine was so worried she threatened the Pastor with starvation unless he held mass twice a day!” Redness and worry became present in his eyes; ' _Until the Chapter exposed Nilfgaard has dimetirium.'_ went unsaid.

“It is good to see you too, Henselt, I hope your family is in good health.” He was going to say something about how they probably were, since the Marchioness was anything if not splendid with her people still he was stopped by his Mistress’ raised had, “Let me introduce you to Yennefer of-”

“De Vries. Yennefer De Vries.” The woman extended her hand so he could shake it, receiving a bow and a light kiss on her knuckles while both his hands lightly held hers, instead.

From the corner of her eye, she could see some maids hiding behind a pillar, trying to get a better look at their new boss, still, they tripped and fell over each other, like dominoes. Yennefer chuckled when they began struggling to stand up, like insects.

As they righted their uniforms, one of them, a blonde, started ranting in an obnoxiously loud voice, “I’ve been telling you all for years that my nana was right! And you called me a fool! I told you that the Marchioness was-” The oldest amongst them began choking her and Tissaia just proceeded to pinch the bridge of her nose and take deep breaths.

Henselt, bless him, clapped twice, loudly enough to get their attention and they scurried back to the kitchen to hide. Today was not the day his employer would get a stress-induced, cerebral haemorrhage, not on his watch, “My lady’s, I am sure that visiting us on these dangerous times has a motive and as loyal servants to both of you, to the De Vries family, we are prepared to help in a way we can.”

The Rectoress straightened her back and exhaled, “My dear friend, I will never be able to repay you all, this kindness. Unfortunately, you are right, dark days are ahead of us and however much I wish it were a fantasy…” She looked at the violet-eyed sorceress, who put one hand in her shoulder to comfort her, “Aretuza might fall, with it the Brotherhood and the Chapter. With us the Continent.”

“If I may be so bold as to ask, ma’am, what horrors will be unleashed upon the world to cause such terrible destruction, the complete obliteration of life as we know it?” Biting her lower lip, Tissaia closed her eyes for a moment and seeing her like that, Yennefer took over, “I am sure that you’ve heard of dimetirium, but the information the public has is incomplete. We can’t risk looking weak, you see.”

“It destroys a mage’s soul, rots the mind to insanity, pain like burning alive from the inside out until you die, as a shell. _Nothing_ of you remains. We know of one impossible cure and that is self-explanatory. The answer you’re looking for, Henselt, is necromancy.” His hand went to the symbol around his neck, his face paling until he looked like he might faint, “Gods help us.” The man prayed.

“My students are my responsibility. Children I will not turn into warriors, into pigs for slaughter. They need a home, a school. I believe what I am implying is clear.” He nodded his head, not trusting himself enough to give a verbal answer without having his tone falter in every vowel he uttered, “Forty rooms should suffice. Another seven for classrooms. Expect their arrival in a fortnight.”

“Rita and Coral will accompany the teachers, as well.” The man's posture went rigid and what a relief it was for the violet-eyed woman to know the blonde wasn’t just a pain in their arse, “Yes ma’am.” The butler said.

“I shall call for a meeting and make sure you are not disturbed during the rest of your stay. Shall the great hall be prepared for dinner and the master bedroom readied?” He adjusted his cravat, checking the hour in his pocket watch before looking expectantly at them.

“No need, we’re leaving just past sunset.” The Arch-mistress stated, trying to not fidget with her hands since she had forgotten to grab a pair of gloves, “My lady’s.” The man bowed deeply, retiring to the east wing, the _‘tak tak’_ of his heeled shoes against the floor the only sound that was heard for several minutes until it too, died down.

The brunette made her way to the stairs and began climbing them and without having to be told to do it, the raven-haired woman followed.

They walked and walked through a part of the house without a word passing through their lips, until they reached an isolated wing, in it a room with a door that had cracks in the hinges and blood spatters in the wood that the maids had not been able to completely wash out.

Tissaia opened the door to her childhood bedroom and Yennefer inhaled sharply, alarmed at what she saw.

Her mother had liked to say that all humans were victims of victims but the truth was she neglected to speak the full list to keep what remained of her innocence. There were also monsters made by monsters. Beings made of smoke and shadow, always hungry, always hurting.

What was stolen from them was so deeply necessary, no matter what they tried they never fully regained it, doomed to forever look for it, a semblance of what had been, in the darkness. Lost children who never really made it back home from the enchanted forest.

They made it an armour, for what was behind it was so broken, they would never survive the rest of their lives without it. And given enough time, it would become a part of them. As natural as breathing, talking. It was the one true mercy they would know.

Time passed. The world forgot, it moved on. But they didn’t, they could never. Gods help them, no matter what they sacrificed, they could never be able to. Once sold to the Devil, your soul was never only yours again. _Gods help them._

So, some of them took their due, becoming the things parents warned their kids about, leaving a new monster behind, repeating the process. Damning others as they had been debased themselves. Making deep cuts on once perfectly smooth skin. Getting high on blood to forget what was so inherently wrong inside, looking at the sun made them want to skin themselves alive.

Some of them hid their bloodlust behind fake smiles and perfect courtesies because they refused to repeat the slaughter, paying the high cost of their kindness, alone, until the end of times. They cried at night when no one was listening, watching, oh yes, they cried for the things done to them but they wailed for the things they did to themselves to survive.

They wept and wept until there were no more tears left and then their core shifted to its final form. Hearts made of stone. Hearts made of ice. Hearts made of hellfire.

And they did something, although not always destructive, to channel the pain somewhere it wouldn’t leave a scar. Mastering their urges, even if it was no easy task. Never forsaking their own wounds, prodding the injuries every now and then so the hurt reminded them why they must never give in to the seductive whispers that haunted them.

People like that were not easily found, much less so recognized, they learned to look so normal, it wasn’t until they showed another mortal the parts that remained that their witnesses realized how much of a predator they were.

Questions, there were so many to make either way. But if the lambs came out unscathed, they ought to be thankful; like a wolf, they might be beautiful and with time and effort they could be relatively tamed, even so, their instinct was to hunt, to howl at the moon.

Beasts that chose to forgo their nature so the world might be a safer place.

It was a story as old as time, one Tissaia knew intimately, because she and Yennefer, they were the same, wild animals with clipped claws.

She sat on the edge of her once bed, the wooden base creaking under her weight, nails digging painfully into her palms as the raven-haired woman examined the scene in front of her.

The Arch-mistress’ wedding dress was still in the mannequin. The bodice was made of lace and with pearls embroidered all over it, creating beautiful patterns, a halter neckline and see-through, long sleeves. The silk of the full skirt the same creamy colour as the gemstones that adorned it.

In its’ head, there was a tiara, made of white gold, the metal shaped like roses, big sapphires and diamonds encrusted into the petals and the leaves of them serving as the base that supported its most likely, dreadful weight. It looked more like a crown than anything.

And finally, there were the gloves, made of lace, covering the back of the hand and the palm, only the fingers visible. The sorceress wondered why, if Tissaia had had any scars before her engagement they must have been erased after the proposal, then again, maybe, this was the one comfort they had allowed her to have without reproach.

She turned on her heel, eyeing the rest of the room. The thick velvet drapes had been yanked off the curtain rod, the cloth pooling in the floor and the closed windows blocked by iron bars, which looked hastily installed.

The mirror in the vanity was broken, however, from the lack of blood anywhere near it, she could tell they probably had restrained the Viscountess before she could harm herself or others.

Candelabras and books littered the floor, the first kind used as weapons, she could tell, from the holes that were on the walls. The violet-eyed mage made a fist and stuck it in one of them to see how deep it was, finding that it fit up to half of her forearm.

The last piece that stuck out were two handcuffs, one of each fastened to the right and left bedpost.

This was no tantrum, no rebellion, the brunette had tried her hardest to escape. _Why?_

Yennefer sat next to Tissaia, who laid down and put her head on her lap. She began stroking her hair and keeping locks of it from her face with tender motions, as she had done back in Rinde when she was still sick and her coughing fit had overpowered her weakened body.

The mage asked no questions, waiting for her to open up or not, by her own will.

They didn’t know how much time passed between that and the Rectoress’ erratic breathing calming, just that when her tone filled her lover’s ears, it was defeated, like the child she had been when she last was in this room, “I overheard my father and him talking, the week before the wedding. The Duke had gathered an army and was determined to seize the Redanian throne by any means.”

“But he needed a Queen, a young bride that could give him enough sons, even if the firstborns were girls, to guarantee history not repeating itself.” An ill-made plan that was condemned to end in disaster, one she could not stop and would leave her hanging at the end of a noose or worse, “His brother was married to a Temerian Princess. He would stand against two of the biggest armed forces out there. There was no way we could have ever won.”

Tissaia rubbed her eyes, her face contorting afterwards, “I tried to tell them it was a madman’s plan, a suicidal act and they wouldn’t listen. Why would they? I was only a girl that wanted to play the master strategist.” So, she had decided she wanted no part in it, nevertheless, the Duke's bodyguards had caught her trying to climb down the window and all hell broke loose.

“So much was building up inside me, it ended up exploding.” Big as the manor was, she did manage to burn down a significant part of it, still, she hadn’t touched her room, so when it was being reconstructed to the place she remembered growing up in, there was no reason for her to confront what lingered here. Until now.

“Why are you telling me this?” Why, indeed? Because she trusted her, because she had done the same, taking her to the baby girl’s resting place.

“For the longest time, I thought they had ruined me, that there wasn’t anything worth much inside of me and I made up for it by becoming the best of the best; the most powerful, the most beautiful. Eventually, with the passing of the centuries I forgot about the woman inhabiting my skin…" She caressed her cheek, her thumb coming to rest on her lower lip and the younger sorceress kissed her forehead, "Yennefer, you changed that, you changed _everything._ Disregarding every single one of my veneers, pulling apart every single one of my walls with bare hands... and ultimately deciding that your findings warranted paying the highest cost to put me back together into who I was always meant to be.”

The raven-haired woman stood up completely, extending her hand and the brunette took it, keeping their fingers linked as they closed the room behind them, melting the doorknob with chaos so no one would ever again go in or out, without having to tear the whole door down.

When they made it to the parlour, a picnic basket filled with goods was waiting for them, along with it a note tied to a champagne bottle that said;

_“My lady’s,_

_The staff is already preparing for our incoming guests with exhilaration, the grandfathers of our grandfathers were the last to see the manor truly alive, so it is an honour to see it for ourselves._

_Though we remain wary of Miss Rita, who has been hiding here for three years and threatening us with severe bodily harm should we dare tell you… for that deception, I offer my resignation, should either or both Madame's desire it._

_On the war, this pawn would like to say that if anyone is capable of defeating Nilfgaard, it is both our Marchionesses, after all, Sodden has set a precedent and there are few women, let alone sorceress, with amethysts coloured eyes, which can also be translated to ‘Please pulverize them, so the world doesn’t go shit’, do pardon my coarseness._

_Your devoted servant,_

_Henselt of Tretogor.”_

╶

Sitting on the sand, they unpacked what was inside, dividing the chocolate, the strawberries and the raspberries between them and sharing the bottle since they couldn’t be bothered to conjure up glasses.

The sun would go down in about an hour and until then it would remain a bright orange, the waves calm, the seafoam only just reaching their bare feet, “I used to come here when things got a bit much, imagine Margarita and I running off into the night and becoming fearsome pirates.”

“You’d have to be able to use a sword for that.” Yennefer commented, biting down on one of the strawberries and a piece of chocolate at the same time, swallowing down the moan that came with them for the sake of her partner’s peace of mind.

“Who’s to say I don’t?” Tissaia sipped the liquor, patting the raven-haired woman’s leg when she almost choked on her food.

Her hand at her throat, looking at the brunette with uncharacteristically wide eyes, “How did you pull that off?” She said.

“Rita was always good at manipulating people, I merely provided the funds.” It was a trait she learned and mastered in her career as a student, but her cousin had been born a mess and a mess she had remained.

“Tissaia De Vries, Viscountess gone rouge, Pirate Queen. Margarita Laux-Antille, her first mate, constant pain in her arse and the reason half the loot is spent dissuading mercenaries from killing her. Sounds nice. Fitting. Perhaps that way I could be bothered to read history books.” The Rectoress laughed, loud and hard, a beautiful sound that made the other sorceress chuckle herself.

After that, they remained silent for a while, until Yennefer decided there would be no other opportunity in the near future to ask her about who she had been back then this openly, “Why a pirate?” She encouraged, her head tilted back and her lips parted slightly, enjoying the last rays of sunlight.

The response was immediate, “The sea, the freedom of going anywhere you want, following the stars for thousands of miles on open water. Just imagine what’s hidden there, treasures of all kinds perfectly preserved, a gigantic time capsule for the taking.”

Something clicked then and Tissaia stood up, pacing back and forth whilst muttering this and that to herself.

The violet-eyed woman stood up too, dusting herself off and grabbing her by the shoulders to stop her making a hole where she was, “Are you okay?” Lips pursed she put the back of her hand to her forehead, which was promptly swatted away by the blue-eyed woman, “What the fu-”

“I’ve got it. Water. That’s the answer. Rita said; _‘They need to quiet it behind something that they can reach at any moment.’_ ” Yennefer’s eyebrows made a race for her hairline, that bloody man must have drugged something in the basket, what a shame it would be to kill him, he had genuinely seemed so nice.

She carried her boots with one hand, marching towards the manor again, “What are you doing?”

“Killing your butler, what else? You’re obviously high. With our tolerance, it’s probably just a mockery of what could have been.” She heard an annoyed groan, a _‘For heaven’s sake.'_ following it, then Tissaia attempting her best to catch up with her larger strides but no one messed with the Arch-mistress without answering to Yennefer.

The mage was about to step on grass when tiny hands latched to her wrist and dragged her back with a force she shouldn’t have had. A lot of her chestnut locks had escaped the confinement of her braid in the struggle and the breathless owner of them was trying to glare at her in between taking mouthfuls of air, “You’re not killing Henselt, nor any of my staff. Water. Quieting. You’re smarter than this. _Think._ ”

And she did. The bond was loud, bright and putting it underwater could quiet it to only a mild vibration, the deeper the pond was the less it would shine. Water could move in any way, any direction, it was flexible, like Rita said it should be and unlike steel, it could be shaped into whatever the situation demanded of them. The blue-eyed sorceress had solved it.

The raven-haired woman ran up to her, tackling the other woman to the floor and kissing her passionately for a few minutes, smiling when she rolled them over, “You’re a genius.” The violet-eyed mage breathed, her lips beginning to bruise.

“I do have my moments, dear.” Tissaia smirked before cupping her cheeks and kissing Yennefer anew with the same enthusiasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Chapter 15 has already been edited, so FOR SURE, I'll update it on Monday!


	15. XV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Shit is gonna get real soon and the update is on time, as promised.

_XV._

Tissaia closed the door behind her and turned to face the other members of the Chapter. In their eyes, there was poorly disguised shock, probably due to the fact that they had all thought her dead, still, she wasn’t about to tell them that their suspicions had very nearly been correct.

She sat on her chair, waiting for the meeting to start. The four sorcerers exchanged glances, before Artaud addressed her in an irritated and nonchalant manner, “I see you finally have deigned us worthy of your presence.” He said, taking a sip from his wine, his feet tapping the floor lightly.

The Rectoress remained calm, used to the condescending barbs her colleagues threw at her, “Excuse my prolonged absence, I was busy making sure Artorious’ estranged, necromantic and frankly quite insane niece didn’t kill us all in the most horrid way there is.” Her tone was pleasant and her smile sardonic as she replied, content with the almost-flinch she tore from the mentioned man.

“We all know the consequences of dimetirium poisoning, gentlemen.” Eyes icy as she addressed them, the atmosphere around them changed with that single statement. Yes, they knew quite well what it meant to die like that and powerful as they might be, it would all be for nothing if the venom entered their systems.

“The Brotherhood will go to war. The vote was unanimous.” His frame was reclined against the chair, his legs outstretched and at that moment Arch-master Vigo looked his six hundred years of age.

He closed his eyes, painfully aware of how he was the last person that could oppose a conflict he helped create, giving his niece questionable advice to upstage the sorcerers of her generation.

“I will fund a third of the cost myself. Our people need weapons and resources.” Tissaia nodded her head deferentially, the man may be nepotistic and selfish, however, he had always righted his mistakes to the best of his vast abilities and coffers.

Part of her pitied him, he had truly thought Fringilla would do great things, “Aretuza’s coffers will still be greatly depleted but it’s something.”

Then they stayed in silence as each of them mentally listed the many things that would have to be done and the protocol that would have to be followed.

Her right hand went to her pendant as she pursed her lips, “The castle has to be protected at all costs, if she infiltrates the vault there’s no telling what things she can summon.”

“The original wards shall be raised, yes.” Vilgefortz concluded, standing and going to the right far end of the room, procuring from the cabinet a large bowl filled with an iridescent liquid and a scroll that appeared to the naked eye to be blank. He carefully placed it in the table in the middle.

From the holster at his hip, he took one dagger, cleaning it from imaginary stains as the rest of the Chapter encircled the object, “Vigo, choose your replacement.”

“Miss Yennefer has proven herself to be the only mage that can substitute me properly.” He suppressed his encouragement, indeed, the girl would be vital to raising such ancient magic, especially being mixed herself. At least he wasn’t the only one that thought so.

Tissaia opened a part of the wall, searching through the vials for the one that contained the blood of one of the Elven Emperors of old, the last one to be anointed and she let fall one drop into the mixture. It turned orange and pink before it settled on carmine. Then, she added one strand of Yennefer’s hair, which she had taken that morning.

Artaud took the yellowing paper from its place, soaking it in the potion before levitating it, a bone-shaped like a quill rising from the bowl as the contract filled with words, “We must name our heirs apparent; a semblance of the Chapter must remain if we die.”

Tissaia and Artorious dipped their fingers into the liquid, proceeding to paint the walls with it, their strokes precise. This was the first part of raising the shields.

When that was done the Rectoress took the dagger from brown hands and slashed her palm open, staring at the flawed tissue with apprehension, waiting for it to be enough to write with. She dipped the quill in it, levitating it again so it wrote the name that left her lips, “Coral Neyd.”

“Herbert Stammelfold.” Followed Artaud, the image of his successor appearing in the water before disappearing and in that moment his awareness of the castle increased until the stone screamed and he heard a clear voice where he had been used to listening to murmurs.

Stregobor frowned, indignant at being cornered into sharing what was rightfully his, using magic instead of the blade to open the back of his hand, taking the quill from where it was and writing with his hand the name of the man, his penmanship immaculate, “Ivo Richert.” He grumbled.

“Geoffrey Monck.” Added Vilgefortz, giving the knife to their remaining associate and taking another from his holster to split his skin with, sneering the eldest man’s way. What a shame it was no member of the Chapter could be deposed of without murder, he wasn’t keen on dirtying his hands and coverups could easily become messy.

“Triss Merigold.” Artorious was last and he used the same liquid that had activated the contract, instead of his blood.

When he was finished the parchment rolled up, breaking into four pieces and flying past them to blend with the banners that bore the sigil of the Brotherhood, the one of the Council, the one of the Chapter and lastly the wall itself.

All the members of the Chapter could be conduits of the castle itself in case of a war brewing in the ranks of the brethren. They could draw strength and power from it but most importantly, through their spilt blood, from mixing it with one of the creatures that had been bonded with the building, they could call forth the original wards, the Elven protection.

Tissaia spoke in Elder and four wounds knit close, her eyes widening in alarm for the slightest moment, that was not supposed to happen and only her hand was meant to be healed. As the other four looked at her she sat again, raising her eyebrow to dare them to comment, which they did not, following her in taking their seats.

They had never done this before; it had been sheer luck that inside her chamber’s personal vault they had been able to find the original drafts of the property, that included the secrets of the castle after her own Rectoress named her, her successor, three hundred years ago and the Arch-mistress insisted a governing entity be made for sorcerers.

When the Royal family had been slaughtered, amidst the massacre they hadn’t been able to salvage the crown jewels and several documents that contained critical information, along with five vials of the last Emperor to stand in these same walls.

“It’s equally important that we make it clear to the remaining kingdoms what’s at stake.” She continued, conjuring live map of the Continent, the landscape enlarging as she tried to count how many kingdoms remained that had sufficient military prowess, coming up with only four, “There’s dimetirium and three hundred sorcerers alone won’t bring her down.”

“Madame De Vries is the only high-ranking member they will listen to, after Sodden.” Commented Artorious, waving his hand to move the chart so Temeria was in front of him, tracing with his finger the path Nilfgaard would take to try and invade the rest of the kingdoms.

They had lost much on that hill, not enough to stop them for long, though.

Nilfgaardians were anything if not patriotists and the rewards for returning victors were a life that was considerably easier, which made their sheer numbers a force to be reckoned with, knowing his niece, she had only sent her most disposable soldiers to that battle. Her years in court had made her a capable strategist and they had expected an easy win.

“Very well, if Yennefer is allowed to be my escort, I’ll go.” The Rectoress said, justifying her answer before they had a chance to speculate why a member of the Chapter needed to be accompanied, “We will be attacked at some point and it’s too late for the pendant or the ring to change master’s.”

“No.” Stregobor slammed his goblet against the small table next to him, blue eyes gleaming with unspoken threats and malice, “She’s thoughtless, too powerful for her own good. It’s bad enough that we need her for the wards.”

“If she is given more influence, we’ll have another Fringilla on our hands.” The last part was hissed, his heated glare on Tissaia, nonetheless she held her head high.

“Every single one of us is too powerful for our own good.” She argued. The rest of the members, except the warrior master, shifted in their seats, uncomfortable with the scene, “Yennefer burned an army to the ground, it’s obvious her loyalties lie with us.”

“Or are you intimidated by someone you have nine hundred years of experience over, Stregobor? Is she another young woman to flee from until someone else kills her?” Taking a sip from her wine she tilted her head and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for his answer.

His nostril flared as he twisted the ring in his finger and then sorcerer the proceeded to defend his reasoning, “I was only thinking of the greater good.”

“The one thing that justified you assassinating babies. And hiding like a coward from a teenager, in a dump, for months.” It left her mouth before she had a chance to process it and no matter that they thought they had managed to control their influence over one another the day before, the violet-eyed mage’s refused to bend, now that the castle’s power was settling in their bones.

Energy crackled in the expanse of the room and with monumental effort she drew the chaos back into herself as fast as she could.

He opened and closed his mouth many times, clearly not expecting her to respond with such crassness, Renfri was not someone people usually threw at his face, nor what he had done in order to avoid her.

Vigo rubbed his eyes; all of them shared the same opinion on that, but the sheer grandiosity of what was infiltrating their bodies was leaving the four of them on a dangerous edge and falling from it would only end in violence, “There’s a lunar eclipse in two months.”

“Shit.” Said Vilgefortz, his posture hunching.

The rest of them didn’t know how to respond to that, so they didn’t, the Gods or whatever was out there were making it increasingly hard to protect the castle and from how the Royal family had fallen, the wards could be dismantled.

It didn’t help that astronomical and natural phenomena of that kind were instances where Aretuza could be moulded into a void, where phantoms long gone came out to play and the soil under their feet became a portal to four castles, four kingdoms that had spilt Elven blood in their throne rooms.

If the fortress was infiltrated that night, the Continent could fall in a matter of hours.

“She will try to destroy the world then.” Stregobor concluded, the shadows in the room thickening as a result of his emotions and thoughts, becoming more ominous, drowning out the light from the candles until it threatened to drown them too. He did nothing to stop it.

“Do stop making a spectacle of yourself.” Condemned Artorious.

“What information has been obtained from Istredd?” Artaud cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, beckoning the image of the chained and tortured man forwards; his lip was split and his eyes so swollen he couldn’t open them anymore, chains on his hands. His magic had been repressed and he could no longer use chaos.

Tissaia pursed her lips, the tendons of her neck tensing and her focus shifting towards her mental shields. The boy was nothing but a scapegoat from what Coral had told her, even so, he would pay the price of betrayal as if he had meant it.

“Nothing. He drank Memosaniam right after his treachery was uncovered.” Stregobor spat.

Artorious hands went to rub his temples and he sank further into the chair, a migraine threatening to assault him now that they had lost all ways to try to understand his niece’s plan, “Just what we needed, a spy that went willingly insane.” His tone was an angry, frustrated thing.

“Has the Council come up with something to negate the powder?” The sorceress prodded, her jaw clenched. She hoped with all her being that the best scholars they had, had found a way for them to fight back. A hope that was killed as the minutes passed and no one had the courage to voice their continued weakness against Fringilla.

“They haven’t. And they’ve been to the vault.” Vilgefortz answered, handing her a rather small piece of parchment which contained a copy of the book-entry she was already familiar with. That was all they had and time had become an enemy they could never hope to tame, “Fire is the only known defence. It shall remain so for the foreseeable future.”

“Miss Yennefer is needed, there’s no way around it. Tissaia channels lightning, Stregobor calls on the shadows, Vilgefortz commands the winds, Artaud shapes water and I beckon the earth.” He declared, staring at the Arch-mistress’ shaking hands. The veins in her neck were dimly glowing white.

“When the Emperor and Fringilla are dead, who’s to inherit the Southern throne?” Queried Artaud, the air around him more humid with every passing second and every new matter that was discussed. The wine in his goblet resembling small waves crashing against the metal.

Twenty ideas all coming and going, he conjured something to write on the military strategies that were in his mind. If they wanted to win the fight the Brotherhood would have to be divided, some invading Nilfgaard, some protecting the throne rooms and their best stationed in the castle, “Aedirn, Redania, Temeria and Kaedwen are the major kingdoms.” Answered Vilgefortz.

“We shall offer them the seat, as long as the new Monarchs don’t share their royal blood.” Stated the Rectoress, taking from the cabinet a leather book which contained the members of each court before closing it. She took her seat again and opened the tome, on her lap; all their options were not that good, but people rarely got great leaders.

Artaud took from the inner pocket of his robe four small containers, inside of them a green potion to soothe their aching muscles and strained minds and he passed them around since they were all reaching their breaking point, “We don’t need more coups, two have been enough.”

“Temeria chooses the King.” He continued and the weight that had contracted his chest began diminishing, the sorcerer was finally able to breathe again without difficulty. His body felt like his own once more, “Kaedwen the Queen. As payment for Sodden.”

“Aedirn and Redania can choose the courtiers.” Artorious added, just as the shadows in the room completely disappeared, letting out a sigh when it was normal once again.

Stregobor made eye contact with all of them, before downing what was left of his wine and vanishing his coup back to the kitchens, so it would get cleaned, “You are all forgetting that the lion cub survived.”

“She shares Pavetta’s gift; I felt her conduit moment.” Muttered Tissaia, accommodating her goblet next to her recently discarded gloves, “She will be killed if she tries to take what is hers by birth right.”

The girl was powerful, yes and when General Cahir had tried to abduct her, he had triggered a dangerous display of chaos, nevertheless, it didn’t change the fact that she was a complete liability to all they were trying to achieve.

“When the truth of the Emperor’s experiments comes out, the common folk will rather drown her than let her be their ruler.” Even if she still didn’t know it was her father that had robbed her of everything she had ever loved. Even if when she found out her heart was still pure enough to not want to further hurt his people as he had hers, to remake what she had lost by any means.

“Calanthe was an extraordinarily accomplished woman and a terrible Queen. Her people hate her, her memory, more than they ever did.” The Rectoress admitted, having visited a refugee camp two days after Cintra fell. She had sensed the girl to be close, but she wasn’t hers to take, “Cirilla may have inherited from her family more than the ability to harness chaos and another monarch like her, in an Empire and not a minor kingdom, is something we cannot afford to let happen.”

“She will never be loved and fear only lasts so long.” Intoned Vilgefortz, looking up for the first time from his writings, adjusting the spectacles he couldn’t remember having summoned.

The Chapter had seen much and many rebellions they had helped thwart, terror and tyrants were always defied, Nilfgaard couldn’t afford a civil war after trying to conquer the entirety of the Continent.

The lines of his face became more pronounced with his severe expression, his fingers tapping on the armrest. They were right, they couldn’t afford a loss of control so significant, “Very well.” Declared Stregobor.

“Twenty per cent of their treasury shall be donated to Aretuza.” Tissaia took off her necklace, it had begun to burn against her dress. The object was attuned to her, nonetheless, the bond had changed something in it, it could pick up intense emotions that weren’t hers and she had forgotten to warn Yennefer about the castle, “Teaching arrogant brats who can’t even lift a stone is a shameful waste of time.”

“For what they’ll get, it’s only fair.” Conceded Artaud, their schools had always survived through various means and even then, none had been as revolting as having the nobility pay for their daughters who could wield no magic walking their halls, tainting their legacies, “Tomorrow execution will take place. The day after that the wards will be raised. The meeting is dismissed.”

Three pairs of boots practically fled the room, leaving two old friends alone; the weapon’s master rose from his chair, coming to sit next to the Rectoress. His toughened hand on her arm to try and provide what little comfort he could, “Are you alright?”

“I am.” She sighed tiredly and he removed his palm from where it had been, he knew the sorceress had never really liked physical contact.

His thoughts went to Sodden, to when the Temerian and Kaedwenian armies finally arrived to find a deserted battlefield and the tale of what the raven-haired woman had done was already spreading like the fire she had unleashed, just as quickly.

“We thought you had died, what happened there was…” He had looked for her and Coral for hours.

She closed the book on her lap, glaring at him, things flashing in her blue eyes that he left alone, “The biggest sacrifice we’ve seen in centuries. Yennefer could have burst, like a star.” It was true, the fire should have consumed her too, channelling an element was a practice only known and mastered by the members of the Chapter and it had taken them a month. Well, all except for her and Stregobor, for them it had been almost a week.

“She spared you.” Her shoulders tensed and her left arm twitched ever so slightly, her gaze on the floor as she fisted both of her palms instinctively, nails surely digging into her fair skin, “Hey, it’s alright.” He reassured her; his voice soft as she clenched her teeth.

“We’ve been friends for a very long time.” None of her known lovers had been love, but Corinna had been enough to last for a few years after Rita had disappeared from her life, leaving a hole in her and Coral, another part to sever from themselves, “I like to think I know what it means when you look at her that way.”

Tissaia closed her eyes, feeling for the golden thread that tethered them both, fear rising in her when instead of finding the essence of her, all she found was a buzzing sound. Her eyes went to her necklace which didn’t burn anymore, instead, it felt as cold as ice, “She saved me.”

“You of all people, deserve it.” Vilgefortz affirmed as he helped her stand, rolling his eyes good-naturedly when her hands began plucking imaginary things from the cloth of her dress, “Thank you.” The mage answered him as he passed her the book, her tone clipped as she then fastened the silver chain to her neck, “I have to-”

He chuckled when the things she had been holding were tossed rather forcefully into his arms, “I know.” She made the motions for a portal to her chambers, taking them back and waving goodbye before stepping through it, the glow blinding him for a few seconds as the remnants of it disappeared into thin air.

Her heartbeat was much too fast inside her chest as she saw the violet-eyed mage’s curled up form resting in the floor, her back against the base of the mattress, face hidden in her knees, her long hair covering her arms.

“What’s happened?” Crouching in front of her, she looked at the blonde and the brunette for answers, the latter appearing like she wanted to weep.

“She began pacing, murmuring nonsense about voices, about memories.” Said the healer, motioning to her friend, nails scratching the back of her hand.

Looking at the archer for support, the sorceress stood from the chair she was in to hold her, her hands caressing her dark locks while her muffled voice came, “She’s been like this for a while.”

Sabrina looked at her, pushing forwards the image of the scene to her, “We couldn’t help her. We really fucking tried to.” They had, even so, she avoided them like their touch might scorch her, babbling incoherent words until she stopped talking, looking at nothing and everything at once.

This was her fault.

“Yennefer.” When her name left her lips her head shot up in recognition, eyes glazed over like when Coral had visions and she saw her without seeing her, her hands looking for her the way her eyes couldn’t.

“Listen to my voice.” Taking her palms in hers the first thing she noted was the unusual coldness of her skin and she kissed them, as if it may fix it, “Focus on my touch.”

It took a few minutes, however, she acknowledged her, “There are so many ghosts here.” The woman whispered and Tissaia felt as her magic began drawing from hers to find balance, the bond calming her now that they were close, taking for the first time from her, instead of giving and she let it, beginning to feel faint from how much it was grasping for.

She moved, sitting next to her, guiding her head to rest on her shoulder, her left hand caressing her cheek and her right one in hers. The mage could see the outlines, the people she was mentioning, they all danced in her mind’s eye, only less overwhelming since they were now sharing. Blood and greatness staining the stone that protected them, “Thousands.”

The grip on she had on her hand tightened, “What’s happening to me?” The raved- haired woman uttered, “We called forth ancient magic. Aretuza remembers and it’s sharing two millenniums of history with you.”

She looked at the girls she raised, many questions shining in their eyes.

_“The Chapter will raise Elven wards. We are now conduits for the castle.”_

_“Gods, the strain on your minds, on your bodies, will be immense.”_

_“Shit. So, this is war.”_

“Breathe.” The castle was being breached, the building itself screaming and cursing as its makers were slain on the ground. The Tower of Gull set aflame as the Queen tried to channel her maid’s lives onto herself, portalling one of her children to safety as she burned from the inside out, a disfigured creature that roamed mindlessly, unable to die until she was beheaded, “That’s it. Good girl.”

The smell of orchids and raspberries helped her ground herself, blinking rapidly as her eyes began to focus once more, “Tissaia.” It was finally over, like a nightmare that had been impossible to wake up from.

The two mages were heading towards the door when her reproachful tone sounded, the Rectoress’ face controlled to not show the concern she felt since she saw how sick they were the week they had spent trying to understand the bond, “I taught you illusions myself and yours are poorly done.”

“Sabrina, your nightmares are only going to get worse if you do nothing. Triss, the illusion on your hands is particularly weak, you’re ruining them and they’re a sorceress greatest asset.” Her violet orbs went to her siblings, pushing past their masks to encounter gaunt faces and skinny limbs.

Brown hands that had bumps and wounds all over them, and a tall woman that looked so malnourished her whole body was continuously shaking, “In my office there’s an extract called Insanamen Remincipax, if you drink two drops in the morning and four at night, you’ll get much better in a month. Do not drink alcohol while ingesting that.”

“You never told me.” Yennefer stood up on wobbly legs, taking the healer’s hand in her own, frowning when the spell she cast did nothing to unmark her marred skin, remaining blemished, “How long has this been going on?” They didn’t know, everything just got worse after they first opened the vault, the state of their minds slowly coming to be replicated by their bodies.

“Sodden was…” Her brown eyes refused to look at her, staring instead longingly at the door, her voice breaking as she remembered the torch that had burned her throat, everything coming back in flashes after she was healed, leaving her no option but to scratch her hands raw. Things bubbling up inside her like the potions she couldn’t make.

The worm that had invaded her had fucked her mind more deeply than what she had thought it did. She remembered stabbing her friend, how in her bloodlust she had wondered what it would be like to gauge her eyes out, how she almost did and the guilt that consumed her when Tissaia bore the proof of her weakness, “A fucking torture.”

“I don’t need protecting, least of all from you.” Sabrina looked at her with vulnerability and she smoothed out the lines on her forehead, the skin her fingers touched as dry as parchment. Her other hand closing the lines that bled in brown hands, “Take the potion and go.”

“But-” The sorceress retreated from her. To Triss the idea of waiting out what was her fight, even if she didn’t want to kill again, was unacceptable. She was capable of being a soldier, “This is our home, too!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do! We are going to war because of _me!_ ” She fisted her trembling hands, the veins in her temple throbbing and her face flushing.

All she felt was anger and resentment, a hurricane in her heart and she couldn’t stop it from ravaging her tired mind, her overtaxed body. Decades worth of suppressed emotions escaping their confinement.

She remembered his face but not his name. Whoever he was, he must have been watching, tracking her for a long time, to learn when she’d be vulnerable, when she’d feel comfortable enough to stop checking her food.

Tissaia had poisoned them with different things, sedatives and venoms, and little by little, their bodies needed more amounts of it for them to feel sick. The healer had objected the practice of it until it had saved her.

A monster that attacked at night, like in children’s stories, her thumbs digging into his eyes as she struggled to get his frame off hers, his breeches undone.

She wasn’t able to call on her chaos due to the amount of nightshade and valerian he had used, their taste familiar and only thanks to her mentor’s training, the woman had enough clarity of mind to fight him off before he did more damage than just bruises, punches and slaps.

The brunette had never been good at physical fights, where she was required to maim with her own two hands, still, she thought she had managed well enough until she was against the wall and her only option was to tear out his throat like an animal.

She spit out the piece of skin and portalled herself to Sabrina’s court when the sun began to rise and magic flowed in her veins once more, a sobbing and bloodied mess.

It had been almost a year for her to allow herself to be touched, in any way, again, to not check everything, she imbibed. Paranoia became her doctrine.

Her letters ignored, all of her words for nothing, all of her efforts in vain. She had tried every tactic she could think about because she needed Yennefer back, she needed to not be alone and the mage never came, “You don’t get to tell me when to stop when you spent seven decades ignoring us, acting like a selfish bitch.”

The blonde tried to grab her by the wrist but she yanked her arm away, “You don’t get to be wise just because your life belongs to Tissaia.” The aftermath of the ritual had been hell and the wounds on her arms hard to heal, harder to get rid of the scars they left.

“All your fucking counsel means nothing when you never really left the pigpen.” Triss covered her mouth after she realised what she had said, the tips of her ears burning, her back clashing against the wall as she tried to walk backwards.

Yennefer was blunt with her because it was the truth and it was the only way to make her listen. She couldn’t carry the weight of everyone on her shoulders, whilst she was crumbling inside, “You’re no use to anyone in this condition. Go. Get better.”

“She’s right, sweetheart.” Sabrina admitted and Tissaia opened a portal to her office. The archer putting her hand on the small on her back and guiding Triss through it as she hid her face in her hands before stepping forth herself, hugging her frame as she debated when ether or not to say anything.

The Rectoress stood up, nodding her head goodbye, “You have a month and a half, use it well.” She closed it before they could answer, blue eyes meeting violet ones, allowing the information of what had happened in the meeting to flow through to the raven-haired woman.

The Arch-mistress sat in her vanity, pulling out the pins that kept her bun in place, massaging her scalp when the last one was in its box, taking the brush she kept in the right drawer and brushing her locks, starting with the bottom part.

The younger woman approached her, resting her chin on the crown of her head, taking the object from her hands and continuing what she had started, “I never stopped to think of what and who I had. I just wanted and wanted _._ ” And still, nothing she ever got was good enough for her to keep.

Tissaia looked at her through the mirror and smiled sadly, “You’re home now. Fix things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Tissaia is Our Lady. Yennefer is the Holy Spirit. And Yennaia is God..... I'm gonna go to hell for blasphemy.... Worth it.


	16. XVI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Se y'all in a month with three new chapters!

_XVI._

Never in her century of life did she spare a thought to how adults were supposed to keep kids safe from war, to tell them that the life they knew could be taken away for causes they did not believe in, for leaders they had just seen glimpses of.

So regretful, the fact that they were liabilities and treasures so important they might be used as bargaining chips.

Yennefer reckoned that magical children were even worse, precious livestock that could be used as the strongest types of weapons, one miracle and then they died. At least that’s how Nilfgaard’s chief sorceress used them for her armies, celestial bodies she had no trouble exploiting.

It would be easy to lie to the girls, tell them that the war was something they would win without a doubt, but where would that leave them if they failed? The ones without magic as brothel whores, their wages above average because of their noble upbringing. The ones that might have been something more, ticking time bombs that’d end in disaster.

At least in the De Vries estate, they would be safe for a time, with teachers that could plan and erase their footsteps from existence, buy them a few years while they decided how to lay low for the rest of their lives, so the new regime might not know of them.

The thing about necromancy was that it weakened one’s capacity for channelling chaos, albeit somewhat slowly. In a century or two, the Empress might not be capable of complicated potions, much less spells and then she would be overthrown by a mortal, for sure as fuck she wouldn’t take any chances of a more powerful sorcerer than her existing, eclipsing her reign.

The girl she remembered was cunning, she would know the path that awaited her and even so she was willing to walk it, to line it with corpses.

Fringilla, who had once been a sister to her, a sibling she didn’t mind stepping on to get what she wanted. The raven-haired woman had disassociated their evenings spent together, the secrets shared and the decade of friendship, from the mage that could take everything she had worked for, away.

It had been a mistake in more ways than one, a single betrayal that had paved the way for a thousand more, because Yennefer had decided no one could matter more than her, than what she wanted. If only the consequences of that were hers alone to suffer.

The brunette wanted to tear the world down to pieces that were easily controlled and above else, hers.

She selfishly wondered how many of the mage’s loathsome actions were fuelled by the memory of that night.

The violet-eyed woman also wanted to know how she dealt with all the blood on her hands, because whilst she may burn an army down again to save Tissaia or the rest of her family, she was still deeply sorry for all the lives she had destroyed. Welcoming the guilt caused by her carnage.

This she thought whilst both of them were on their way to interrupt every class that was being given at the moment, to break the news that if they wanted to keep their heads, their best bet was evacuating the premises as soon and quietly as possible.

When they arrived to the greenhouse all noise completely died down, to the point where the breathing of the people in it was too loud a noise.

The teacher that was in charge just nodded her head their way, leaving to collect the rest of the girls.

They hadn’t expected one of the twin’s breaking the silence, as they waited, though, “We heard about Nilfgaard’s weapon.” The news had spread rapidly after Triss’ little exposé, so, the Arch-mistress supposed it hadn’t even taken a full day for the information to reach the few that hadn’t attended the meeting.

Tissaia’s mask descended seamlessly as she waited for the other twin to continue what they were trying to say, as they annoyingly tended to do, “Rectoress, I think I speak for all of us-” She took her friend’s hands into her own, eyes beginning to shine with tears.

“We know what the metal means for mages.” It was one of the first lessons the Rectoress taught, part of the routine she followed to prepare them for the dangers they would encounter once they left their apprenticeships behind, “For Fola, for Amory, for Evolette.”

“We cannot wield chaos, lift stones.” The fifteen minutes older one, as she had distastefully repeated over and over when they introduced themselves to her, continued, “Nonetheless, we can learn to fight, just as well as any man.” In both of them, she could sense a deep determination to protect the girls they had spent the last three years growing up with, as strong as their hope that the world they resided in continued existing.

“We no longer want the balls, the gossip of court. We want this.” Of course, they didn’t.

The Arch-mistress turned to look at Yennefer, who hadn’t seen it fit to disguise the awe in her face, “We want challenges and power. Our own choices.” This statement made her proud, prouder than she had been of any of her students in a very long time.

“No.” Their gazes dropped to the floor, in the time they had been under her strict tutelage her choices and commands had always been absolute. She didn’t plan on abandoning that practise because of a heartfelt speech and a newfound bravery that would get them killed, “You are not any man. Even if you’ll never be sorceresses.”

“Many will fall. And you’ll do as I ask because that’s the way you can honour the blood that’ll coat these halls.” She could’ve deceived them, telling them that their home wouldn’t reek of death and loss when they came back, but that was something that would only increase their hurt a tenfold. The blue-eyed sorceress wanted to spare them whatever horrors she could, “Take care of your friends, of each other, while we’re fighting.”

“Yes, Rectoress.” The five of them lamented, going in for a group hug with the rest of the girls to commemorate that they had tried, wiping their faces clean afterwards and just then the door opened again, another twenty students of various ages coming in.

When they had settled enough the brunette proceeded to tell them what they were meant to do should Nilfgaard win, that for their safety, they would probably be stuck in the manor until they learned how to live incognito or until the Empress was disposed of, which didn’t sit well with them, nonetheless, her pupils agreed it was the best option they could have been given.

Then she gave them brusque warnings of what would happen if they failed at being nobody’s, sparing no details in her explanation of what truly may happen. After they calmed and their hysterics died down, the raven-haired woman intervened, telling them what would happen if their enemies were slain, making it a point to go in detail about how fabulous their new residence was and how when they swayed the kingdoms to join them, it would be a fair fight.

Finished with that, the Rectoress dismissed all classes until they parted for her estate, one week from now, receiving excited giggles and parroted thanks before the twenty-five teenagers fled the room. 

Finally, they both left, making their way for the great hall to take lunch.

The younger sorceress tried to not be bothered that Tissaia hadn’t talked much to her the whole day, justifying it because they were attempting to not let the strain on their bodies incapacitate them. That, though, it was easier said than done.

She wanted to reach into the pool that separated them, to empty it, nevertheless, it wouldn’t be right, the Arch-mistress usually denied her nothing, so, Yennefer had no reason to disturb her privacy. As her partner and most likely, her soulmate, she had, however, the right to ask.

Her violet eyes looked at her, her brow furrowed, her gaze troubled and the mage decided that questioning her could wait. There was an important thing the Chapter had omitted looking into that could very well come back to bite them in the arse. So, she stopped mid-stride, waiting a few seconds for the Rectoress to notice that the raven-haired woman was no longer by her side, making her way back to her when she did, “Why are we stopping?”

“What about Ban Ard?” The girls and the boys were separated for obvious reasons and though the battle would take place in Aretuza, Vilgefortz had said nothing of what he planned to do with his school. Which, in her most humble opinion, was probably because he was parading around his military knowledge like a peacock would its’ feathers. 

The Arch-mistress bit her lower lip, thinking. She had no jurisdiction over what happened to the academy and she knew that their warrior master, as pretentious as he was, wouldn’t be that much of an idiot to presume their victory was assured and leave a weak point of that kind. But if his title of Rector was _rescinded._

Only the key bearers had the authority to do that. She hadn’t, “Gods, no.” Tissaia gathered her skirts with both hands, motioning for Yennefer to follow her and began running towards the tower of the Gull, where the castle told them Stregobor was.

They were just outside the door when they encountered Coral and Rita, the redhead’s hand against her side and the blonde’s knee twisted at an awkward angle, “How many remained when you left?” Her cousin approached her and moved her head so her mouth was next to her ear, giving her the answer in a rough whisper.

The brunette opened a portal to the infirmary and her siblings stepped through it without hesitation. Their wounds looked messy and from the perspiration on their foreheads, they wouldn’t have made it there without collapsing.

She was about to open the door when the violet-eyed woman stopped her, “What’s going on?” Yennefer said agitatedly.

“Stregobor revoked Vilgefortz’s title as Rector of Ban Ard, he’s conducting the preliminary ascensions early. Those boys have been there just shy of a month.” At hearing that the younger sorceress opened the entrance herself, descending the stairs in a hurry and gasping with horror at what they found.

They were too late, all that remained were nine sets of robes and another nine, slimy eels, which were promptly pushed into the pool, the only evidence that something had happened vanishing into thin air as they joined their new cellmates.

Yennefer threw herself at the sorcerer, however, Tissaia managed to grab her by the waist just before she tackled him into the pond, not letting go, “You bloody bastard! What gives you the right?! _You fucking balding, barmy, dimwit imitation of Merlin!”_ The woman struggled against her captor, eventually giving up when her head collided with the other’s nose.

The Rectoress put her nose back into place with a sharp motion, barely stopping herself from cursing and glaring at the Arch-master, “Nine boys, you’ve deprived nine boys of the chance to prove themselves worthy of being sorcerers and for what? You’ve bought us three hours at most.” Her tone was clipped, her words hissed.

He turned around to look at them, smirking, “Three hours are just enough for the stone knights to significantly deplete her forces.” His thumb was toying with the ring in his pointer finger, the malevolent aura of him, present, as usual.

She couldn’t fault his logic, no matter how hard she tried; three hours might be enough to save the Brotherhood and Tissaia couldn’t have him arrested for this. Under the Constitution of the Gift and the Art, he had broken at least a dozen laws, but on the pages that explained the protocol of war, his actions were fair game.

The Arch-mistress clenched her jaw, pouting slightly. He knew she was aware of that, after all, he was the one that suggested it when the five of them wrote the first draft.

Yennefer fisted her hands. Near the end of their studentship, the brunette made them memorize two sets of regulations, the one they belonged to and the one they served and that specific treaty had many inconsistencies because no one had imagined something like this happening in their lifetimes, “I hate you, you conniving snake.” The mage stated.

“One should beware of snakes in the grass. Isn’t that right, Madame De Vries?” The words left his lips like a jest like he knew something of importance he had neglected to share with his colleagues and the wheels in the Arch-mistress’ head began turning. Who? Why? She had both answers in less than a minute and they tore at her insides.

Tissaia swallowed her pride, the action leaving a lump in her throat, “What do we do about him?” Stregobor grinned, clearly pleased that he did not need to explain himself.

She was his fiercest opponent and what an invigorating game they played every time one of them challenged the other, “Nothing. Not yet.”

Neither woman interrupted him, clever things, they were surely envisioning all the ways outing Vilgefortz could make all their combined war efforts go to hell, “The brethren won’t survive even one member of the Chapter being exposed as a puppet and we can’t afford to look divided to the kingdoms you have to convince.”

He stroked his beard, thinking about the best possible way to twist the man’s treachery to their benefit, “So, we allow Fringilla to keep her spy, feed her incorrect information that way and when the day comes, we kill him before he can help her infiltrate the castle. By then it’ll be too late for anyone to back off.”

He advanced towards the brunette, bowing slightly to be at the same eye level as her, “Do not fret, Rectoress, more conduits will soon come, you know better than anyone how every single one of them is replaceable before their true ascension.” The sorcerer extended his hand to caress her face, even so, his wrist was yanked away by the violet-eyed menace she stubbornly kept around.

Her pretty face was twisted into a sneer, teeth bared, the heat of her palms painful against his clothed skin, “Touch her and I’ll cut off both your hands. Feed them to the eels.” He jerked his arm away, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, glaring annoyedly at her.

Then Stregobor brushed past the two of them, stopping when he had his right foot on the first step of the staircase, “Do try to not ruin the envoy tour with your brash, disrespectful and impulsive behaviour.” With that he was gone, the sound of the door closing never reaching the two of them.

Yennefer felt like hitting the wall, like screaming and cursing but Tissaia felt like strangling the older sorcerer and setting the room where the Chapter’s meetings were held, on fire with lighting, Vilgefortz locked inside so he burned alive. Rita broadcasting the show throughout all of Aretuza and Ban Ard while the six of them stuffed themselves full of herbs.

The Rectoress had in her stomach a knot that made her dizzy, the full implications of the betrayal of the warrior master downing on her.

The academy was lost to them, the boys that Stregobor had missed were surely in Nilfgaard by now, six feet under or near that.

Nine boys. Twenty sorcerers in training. Twenty-nine graves that were hers alone to dig.

Her whole body started shaking, her hands turning completely white as the eel pond started glowing, her veins all visible, spiderwebs that were woven with raw power. Incorporeal voices whispering in her ear.

She should’ve known, planned for it, he had been trying to get most of the forbidden arts legitimized for the better part of the last two centuries and now Fringilla had offered him that knowledge on a silver platter.

Gods, it had even been agreed by the other four behind his back that he should never have one of the keys. She couldn’t feel more ashamed of blissfully ignoring the signs if she tried.

The magic that surrounded them became palpable in every inch of the place, the air buzzing with it. Snowflakes suspended all around her, frost covering her up to the elbow.

When had Vilgefortz changed this much? Why had she not noticed that many who had once been dear to her were no longer who she remembered?

After so many people stabbing her in the back, she should be used to it yet the despair never failed at resurfacing, this time more potent than the last time. He had been one of her oldest friends. She had trusted him with many things, in evenings spent by the roaring fire in her office.

The weight of her choices was becoming unbearable.

She felt as her mask began to crack. Control was escaping her, no matter how desperately she tried to hold on to it. Chaos laced in her bones, more dangerous than anyone that had ever maimed her, more deranged than anyone she would ever meet.

Flashes passed in her mind’s eye, like kindled comets.

A close friend. A deserter. A murderer.

A promising student. A rebel. A tyrant.

Warlords.

And the woman that failed them _._

Her blue eyes were transforming and in their stead, there was something truly terrible, black filling the whole expanse of her sclera’s, her irises and her pupils. A thunderstorm announcing itself in the background.

A phantom touch she could feel beyond the fog all around her, beckoning her to come back. A promise beyond space and time helping her to push past the darkness that so viciously wanted to keep her. She blinked, _“Yennefer?”_

 _“Tissaia!”_ The mage bewailed, checking her for injuries almost immediately, finding nothing to heal other than the migraine that assaulted her partner the moment she came back to the present. With a bit of magic, the hurt disappeared and the brunette could think again.

There was a large cut on her olive cheek and they no longer were on the tower of the Gull but on their shared chambers, the whole expanse of it frozen, large icicles hanging from the ceiling, ready to fall on them. Sitting across from each other on the settee and she slid down to the floor, the younger woman mimicking her actions.

The Rectoress was grasping the leg of the couch so hard a few splinters of wood were forming around her nails, “I did this. All of it.” The wound didn’t look deep, even so, it still bled and on instinct she reached out to close it, stopping herself when she felt the warmth of Yennefer’s skin on her fingertips.

She stood on shaky legs, which refused to cooperate until she directed her remaining strength to force them. Leaning her whole weight against one of the posters of the bed when she finally reached it, after stumbling her way to it, bumping into furniture, a few bruises already on their way.

Yennefer approached her as one would a feral animal, a hurt one at that, “It wasn’t your fault. Any of it.” One stretched arm cautioned her against coming any closer. The guilt she felt was overwhelming.

Chestnut curls that had fallen hazardously from her bun framed her face whilst she worked on controlling her ragged breathing and she mumbled, “It was.” The sorceress bit down sharply on her lower lip, to cease its quivering. A myriad of fiascos, the repercussion of their one big crisis just as hers.

He petite frame was engulfed in a tender embrace before she had a chance to protest again and the brunette gave in, relaxing against the violet-eyed mage’s familiar scent, soothed by the beating of her heart so close to her own, “I promise you it wasn’t.” With her lips against the shell of her ear, she could almost believe her, nevertheless, an argument that wouldn’t change her mind was the last thing that she wanted right now.

They kissed, a mess of tongue and teeth, as far as it could be from the loving way their lips met when they woke up that same morning, the younger woman busy pulling out the remaining pins whilst her hands settled on her waist.

Around them the ice and the snow began to disappear, nothing except the chill to attest she had turned the room into a winter wonderland. Soon parting for air, her blue eyes darkened as she licked the iron beads that were still coming from her wound before closing it once and for all. Not a mark, there, too.

Grabbing Yennefer and twisting her arm, she bent her over the mattress, pressing her thigh between her legs so her own parted more. Gathering the cloth of her skirts and pushing it upwards, all her actions rewarded with wanton moans and whimpers.

Babbled somethings coming from the raven-haired mage, her face resting in the comforter. Her undergarments ripped from her body with so much force it left the tissue red.

Tissaia licked her lips, delighted at having her submissive and spread out just for her. Her fingers ghosted the length of her slit, opening her folds and carefully running one of her nails around her entrance, “Beautiful.” The Arch-mistress spread her wetness, pressing down on her clit for a moment.

“All those years without you here, I’d imagine my fingers were yours.” Two of them slowly penetrated her up to the knuckle, a small, satisfied smile gracing her lips when her partner’s hips bucked, prompting her to move, yet the brunette did nothing, “Perhaps your clever mouth would be good at not just being insolent, perhaps it could serve a better purpose between my thighs.”

The digits curved and they moved with intent, the thing inside her consuming this instead of anything else and it fit, they needed each other in every way that existed, it was right. So much better to feed the hole inside them with caresses and not whatever else it demanded at perilous moments, “So tight around me, so wet for me. Begging me to _fuck_ you.”

 _“Tissaia.”_ Her name, said by Yennefer at this moment, in that manner, was almost enough to make her come herself, nonetheless, instead of letting it happen she added another two fingers and pumped in and out of the younger woman, hard and fast until she had to hold her by the hips to control her erratic thrusts.

“Come for me.” Her words in that sultry tone she reserved for the violet-eyed woman proved to be enough and the mage was lost, her walls clenching around her like a vice as the blue-eyed mage did her best to make it last as long as possible. Waves of ecstasy she had an impression of through the bond.

In the minutes after Tissaia was pulled down to the mattress with an impressive manoeuvre that had her straddling the raven-haired beauty beneath her, her clothes dissolved with magic because, of course, in no universe did she possess the patience it took to undo the many buttons that existed on all of her dresses. 

She eyed the Arch-mistress hungrily, moving her mouth to kiss her neck, giving special attention to her pulse point whilst the other woman shuddered. So very tempted with her thigh so close to her core and the sorceress gave in, beginning to move, however, the brunette was stopped, her lips pursed into an angry line until she was offered three fingers to ride.

Her hand on the Yennefer’s shoulder for balance as she sunk on them, the sounds leaving her throat obscene as the angle made them hit that sweet spot that made her head spin.

She marvelled at the way her lips parted, the blush in her cheeks spreading to her chest, pert nipples demanding her attention. Sucking on one till it was perfectly hard and then giving its twin the same consideration.

Open-mouthed kisses as she resumed her quest to mark her neck somewhere she wouldn’t be able to cover it with any of her gowns, “Half of the Continent would kill to have you like this, the famed Tissaia De Vries so content and perfect before them.” She purred.

Her back began to ache, objecting holding both their weights, nonetheless, she’d only listen to it when the sorceress unravelled before her violet orbs, “Still, none of them know how to make you scream, cry out.” And what a sweet thing it was when it happened, all her usual self-restraint thrown out the window.

“Do they?” She enunciated it with a particularly sharp thrust, “No…” Was her response and she finally found the perfect spot, biting down close to her sharp jawline, her teeth imprinted into the skin. Licking the sharp sting it left, away.

“Yennefer!” Tissaia squealed, going still as the shocks of her orgasm ravaged her entire body, resting her face in the crook of her neck when she finally descended from her high.

A mess of limbs, they were, but calm once more, the nightmare of a few hours earlier not corrupting their magic anymore. The Rectoress' traced random patterns on her side, “I promise you it’s going to be alright.”

She believed her, not because they could guarantee they’d beat Fringilla, because even if they failed, they wouldn’t let go, now that they had each other, whatever that particular transaction cost them be damned, “I know.”

╶

Traitors got no large and extravagant ceremony, carefully decorated coffins adorned with the bits of chaos they had loved most in their very long lives. No solemn get together where the stories of how they had affected the world around them were told by the people that knew them best, no interested ears by the ones that didn’t. No place in the immense crypt of people who all shared too much or too little amongst themselves.

What they got an equally large crowd cursing their name, bloodthirsty mages that all looked down their nose at their ineptitude, at their disgrace, a sea of people that were eagerly waiting for their debt to be paid. Curious to see how someone that had once belonged, was now so beneath them, their demise was one they wouldn’t even give a rather pesky mortal.

No matter that they had themselves been tempted by ultimate power at some point in their lives, they still wanted justice just as badly as they did an immaculate legacy. They had been intelligent, choosing the institution that had raised them, saved them.

Even their newest additions knew not to test them. Calanthe had built walls that ultimately failed her, in an attempt to make herself forget it would take the five less than a day to tear her whole kingdom to the ground.

Yennefer had been right when she had tried to terrorize her youngest students, the Rectoress and her associates allowed no greater loyalty within their ranks than the one they had for the five, nothing could ever surpass the illusion of them.

Rouge ones went ignored and left to their own devices unless they went publicly against their agenda when terminating them became a priority.

Tissaia had endangered her seat to save the raven-haired woman that now stood by her side, killing herself the four assassins that were deployed to silence her after their meeting in Rinde. One for every decade she didn’t see it fit to listen to reason.

All emotion erased from their faces as the doors opened to reveal a brutalized man, his clothes torn up and his hands burnt, one of his eyes bashed into a bloody pulp that the Arch-mistress knew there was no way of saving.

Istredd looked like a child, grinning broadly with broken teeth like he was being taken out for playtime and not have his throat slit.

Stregobor would end his misery, being his sponsor and the sorcerer that had been wronged by his supposed actions. Yennefer wondered if he even cared.

Rita and Coral arrived almost when it started, both sharing the same flask, her cousin’s mouth shut, for even she knew better than to try to voice her opinions about such inhumane methods, holding the redhead so close to her they looked like they had been glued.

“Fringilla Vigo has taken our wisdom and twisted it. She has called forth things that even the best witchers could not slay. Enslaving children who share the same gift she was scared of, until we taught her the ways of magic, abusing their vulnerability instead of giving them the tools to rise from it.” The man was tossed in his knees before him, his madness too prominent in once intelligent eyes.

Gods save the ones who’d been damned with such a fate, “The chaos within herself is not like the one in us, not anymore. Sorcerers we may be, yes, but our humanity is what made us worthy of leading, our desire to help shape the Continent into the utopia it can be.” His eyes met many of the ones in the crowd, including the four of them. Being a great spokesman had served him many times before.

“She has spilt innocent blood, initiated conquests like the tyrants of old, where the Chapter has used diplomacy even with those who saw us as foes, damned us with words to the pits of hell.” There were whispers that agreed with him, no discontent with his speech.

Thunder came down outside the walls of the castle, strong and loud and powerful, “Threatening our kind, her sisters and brothers, her mentors, with the worst poison we know of, filling her reserves of it through necromancy. Allowing hideous experiments on Nilfgaard’s common folk when her greedy hands wanted more.”

“Turning a father against his only child.” Whistles and sounds of disgust could be heard and however much it pained them, they agreed with him, that action was as revolting as he was making it to be, “Lying about it, about everything, when she came back to the ancient castle that was once her home.”

One of the men in the council passed him a glove and when he put it on a seal the size of his hand was next, the steel yellow with heat, “We never wanted any of this.” He pressed the sigil to his former mentee’s forehead, the sickening sound of charred skin and his wails of pain following.

Stregobor kneeled, carefully touching the boy with the gentleness of a messiah, cleaning his tears with his thumb, “Who could want something like this?” He said, voice trembling just enough to make it sound touching.

Carefully, he rose, not bothering with righting his clothes, “Still, this is Nilfgaard. Its' Emperor. Its' mage in chief.” The cries continued, his handsome face covered in blood, making himself smaller in any way he could, like a part of him knew what came was worse.

“And it is our duty to stop them. However high the price we may pay.” Two men pulled Istredd to his feet, restraining his weak attempts to escape. The ginger man took the dagger that was in the table, his hand patting the stubbled cheek of his victim, “My son, I wish I could forgive you.”

The screams were the things of nightmares, as he cut Istredd open from shoulder to navel, a tear that might as well have been real falling from his left eye as he searched the organs for his still-beating heart, blood soaking the floor underneath them. Pulling it out, he stabbed it and brown eyes glazed over as the sweet embrace of death took him. 

The dagger falling to the floor was the only sound there was as his body went slack.

“Immerse in a darkness unlike we have ever seen before the Brotherhood remains.” The mages just nodded their heads and began pulling themselves together, resolve and hope that any of it might not pass to their loved ones filling their chest.

“We remain.” Stregobor said.

It was a prayer, one echoed by three hundred people who’d all flood the great hall for wine and other kinds of beverages later. It was a call to arms and the wish to come back home, all in two words, so everyone repeated it, with a faith they didn’t know they could still possess.

Yennefer and Tissaia drained the waters that separated them. " _We remain."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I told y'all it was gonna get DARK. Not much more than this that's for sure, though. 
> 
> It seems sorceress aren't the only deadly manipulators around. My dear readers, this is why- apart from sheer power, Stregobor is the only one that could hope to match either of them.
> 
> Also smut, cause I fancy myself a fairy godmother of sorts.


	17. XVII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: I literally screamed at my laptop in frustration for days whilst writing this chapter..... but turns out I'm kinda proud about it...... yeah I'm actually really proud, turns out.
> 
> There's angst. And Rita being Rita. And Coral being Coral. And everyone being gay. The good stuff, y'know?
> 
> New chapter on Thursday.

_XVII._

Outside the storm hadn’t quelled after Tissaia’s meltdown, the winds howling and the tides so massive the entrance to the castle was drenched in the sea’s unrest. So, it had been decided that the grand show the Chapter wanted to give the Brotherhood would be broadcasted by Artorious, instead of witnessed first-hand by the many curious mages that were waiting out the tempest.

To that end the great hall was still being readied, three hours before the ceremony was due to start, reluctantly overseen by Rita and Coral, whilst the Rectoress and her partner were secluded with the Council and the rest of the five in the vault. A position neither the blonde nor the redhead could bring themselves to envy.

Slumped in her cousin’s chair in the high table, she toyed with the cutlery laid out in front of her, “When you told me she had never before been more dangerous, I never imagined her capable of things like this without even trying.”

“It is unlike you to underestimate her.” Commented the medium, her hand moving impossibly fast against the page in her notebook, a magical quill between her fingers that rarely needed to be refilled. She begrudgingly noted that her penmanship was not the best at the moment, yet vain details like that shouldn’t matter.

Coral sighed, stopping and tearing the paper from its place, enchanting it so it reached them in the other end of the castle. She stared off into the distance for a moment, aiding them with her visions, the process of it was more vexing than what she had expected, “Then again, I find myself impressed by what her distress has brought on, too.”

“Which could have been avoided if someone took care of that twat, like I’ve suggested and offered my services for, so many times.” The sorceress remarked, running her tattooed hand through her hair frustratedly. If only the girls hadn’t been ambushed that day at least she’d have some peace of mind, “Did you really have to intervene? Save his sorry, wrinkled ass once more?”

She gulped down the sweet liquid, closing her eyes for a second. Numbing herself since coming back to Aretuza had been a challenge, one that hadn’t been overcome even by the herbs she had stolen, “They’d hate you if they knew you made the tracking spell visible to him.” A playful smirk formed on her carmine lips as she rested her head on the palm of her hand, looking attentively at the redhead.

Her hand continued moving and a smile reached her mouth, “You may be many things Margarita, one I like to think you aren’t is a traitor to the people you love.” The blonde snorted, positively outraged at the claim even when it was the truth. How the mage maintained the ability to make her look soft was beyond her.

“I’ve said it for four centuries and I’ll repeat it now, Stregobor-” A _‘thump’_ in the wood of the table made her pause and what she saw was one of the most childish displays Rita had made since coming back. She rolled her eyes, “Stregobor-”

“Is necessary to end the one war that can open the door for the Wild Hunt. I know.” Came the muffled voice of her friend, who apparently had used too much force, for there was a red spot on her forehead as she slowly rose to sit, “Spare me the lecture.”

Robbing one of the passing servants of a pastry, she raised her middle finger the way she remembered the girl going when the blue-eyed woman heard the whispered insults, “What good is it that they both are unmatchable in power, that in the millenniums to come they’ll never be if imbeciles remain to be needed?” The blonde complained, stabbing her food with the fork.

Pages filled with useful information disappeared once more, another three sightings immediately following, “The Goddesses demand their fill of precious blood and if either of them has to pay the cost, _again,_ the castle is sure the Red Riders are the least of our worries.” Her hand was beginning to cramp, nevertheless, Coral just opened and closed it several times, pushing past the uncomfortable feeling.

“Don’t worry this isn’t his redemption story. An exchange, a simple transaction, if you will.” The sound of thunder outside was heard again, this time more violent, like the weather itself was upset at the idea of someone as horrendous as him given a gift like that, where his death eclipsed the blood on his hands.

A few moments passed, where she heard nothing, where she saw nothing happen. It was unnatural. She frowned, questioning, “Now what?”

“Fucking Aretuza warned you of _what?”_ The way the words left her made her look psychotic. Waves of panic present in her chaos, as the fantasy of losing Tissaia in battle played out in her mind’s eye, each scenario more disturbing than the last.

Coral ignored her, her lips pursed and Margarita snatched the notebook from her, rising from her seat and almost slamming the object against the table, “You better tell me or _I swear to the Gods-_ ” The air around them was growing thick like they were on a desert. The skirts the women around them wore fluttered.

“Get a grip on your bloody magic and sit down. Now, Rita.” The mage tried, taking deep breaths as she bit her lower lip, her nails digging against her palms and with half-moon imprints on her skin, things went back to normal.

Ignoring the numerous gazes directed at them the redhead swallowed thickly and began, “The day of the ritual, more specifically, when she lost Yennefer, she lost everything. I do believe she would’ve gone mad with grief, had she not been able to save her.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” She questioned petulantly; furious. Her friend tended to give too much context instead of just going straight to the point and it made her skin itch. Her nails tapping against the mahogany as she tried to not throw the objects close to her at someone.

She stared back at her, the blonde had a penchant for being difficult when she needed to be patient, “Everything. There’s a debt that needs to be paid.” One that required a very specific type of payment, a sacrifice only the ginger man with his rotten heart could serve as a substitute for.

“They’ll both die without the other, the bond can’t be broken even by death.” Was their joy just a temporary kindness? Undeniably, it might be just that, if her life had taught her anything, it was that monsters were determined to win, one way or the other. They almost always did, in the end, be it a nightmare, a new scar or a casket going six feet under.

“Do you think the Goddesses care about their happily ever after?” Pretty face contorting, she attempted to quiet the voices in her head to no avail, her eyes darting from side to side as they tried their hardest to best her. The truth was a dangerous thing to say out loud.

Rita refilled her goblet to the brim, downing it all in one go and cleaning her mouth with a cloth napkin when she was finished, “Fucking cruel bitches.”

Clenching her jaw, she pronounced, “That’s why they rule over us.” With an iron fist, toying with those they created to see what would happen if things changed ever so slightly this time. Experiments to entertain themselves with the vastness of forever. Compassion had long left their all-powerful beings. 

“You’ve seen what they can do when distressed. Oh, yes, they’ll die but they’ll take the whole world down with them. Burn it all to the ground.” It would make Sodden and the thousands of lives taken there seem like a joke, compared to the millions they’d slaughter with their last breaths.

The few hundred people that would survive would tell their descendants in distressed whispers of how a broken heart had brought on the apocalypse. Aretuza forever lost to humanity, trapped in time, “Stregobor is a placeholder, then.”

“He is.” The first times she saved him, Coral knew not the true purpose of it, just that when It came to pass, the disgust she felt at herself when he came out of the many assassination attempts unscathed, would hopefully die, too.

Opening the first few pages of the notebook, the blue-eyed sorceress began to look through the writings without really paying them much mind, finding many intricate pictures where she thought it would all be words, “What about the castle?”

“Do you think that a place that has hosted magic in it even before the Conjunction of the Spheres is just a thing?” She motioned to the room they were in, “No. It’s so much more than that.” The redhead expanded her sight, showing Rita the world as she saw it.

Tendrils of chaos laced in every single stone, live vines, like veins. A constant pulse that mimicked a heartbeat, just as powerful as the elements around them, “It might not be alive in a way we understand, still, the earth, water, fire and air aren’t either, not inherently. They just _are_.” Beautiful and deadly and eternal.

Blinking rapidly, her eyes began focusing again, the magic that coexisted with them not visible to her anymore, “So even if we win, it’ll be all for nothing.” What had just happened felt like falling off a cliff and never reaching the ground, no wonder Coral was half-gone all the time, “What have you seen of that?” The mage inquired.

“That I know will happen? Just two things. The future is ever-changing.” A dying woman's wish and her gift. A willing sacrifice thwarted by an unwilling prisoner.

“Two?” She encouraged, huffing annoyedly when there was no response, “Always the cryptic wanker.” Rita grumbled, playing with the remnants of what had been her cake, pushing it around lazily with her fork, groaning when she checked the decanter for more wine and there was not a drop left.

“You love me for it.” The left corner of her lips was quirked upwards into a half-smile, red locks of hair framing her face and the blonde’s mouth opened just a tad. She didn’t remember her being so stunning.

Turning her attention to the leather-bound notebook, the sorceress handed it back, “I love you _despite_ it.” Her mouth was impossibly dry, so she grabbed from her dress’ pockets her new, stolen, flask, taking a long sip, forcing the cheap ale in it to make up for the lost wine.

“Why are you standing up?” Rita crossed her arms, before following her gaze to the massive oak doors some meters away from them. Tissaia and Yennefer had just arrived that moment and by the looks of them, the meeting had gone as well as it could have, which meant things had gone to shit at some point and they had to restrain themselves from murdering someone.

Whining, she stood up too, “It’s so fucking unfair.” Dusting off her dress, she pushed her long hair out of her face, its vibrant golden colour had faded with time, with the many poisons she popped in like sweets, now it looked like moonlight and she had a hard time liking it like that, even if everyone else did.

The notebook disappeared from her shaking hands, “The only time it has been unfair is when I used it to cheat on tests.” The text now was in their shared chambers and whilst Aretuza could hold all of the Brotherhood comfortably, Margarita sometimes found herself being paranoid for no real reason, something she had stopped struggling with, before coming back to the castle.

They began to walk to where the couple was, their frames graceful and regal, even though their bodies felt heavy, “I knew it.” It was never an easy thing to live through war, no matter how many they had survived before.

“Don’t tell our dear Rectoress.” Oh, she could imagine how their dear Marchioness would react, the blonde fantasized her beginning with a lecture and then complaining that if it weren’t for that the redhead would have never been able to usurp her title as first in class.

In her educated opinion, Queen Bitch who also happened to have a broom up her arse was the accurate title, still, she wasn’t about to shatter that specific delusion when her cousin could now so very easily and eagerly send her to the infirmary, “Fine, but only because it makes for something to use to get my way with you.”

“My sweet, if you want to settle down and not give up your very, very active sex life, you can just ask me, I won’t say no.” Her blue eyes widened and her breathing turned shallow, “Regardless of your best efforts, I do happen to know why you show such preference to gingers.” All colour drained from her face then and she froze like she had been punched in the gut.

When Rita came out of her shock she closed the growing space between them as fast as she could, with fumbling steps that made her look like an imbecile. She extended her hand, grabbing her by the elbow, “Coral!” Yet the Arch-mistress cleared her throat that same instant, causing Rita to jump back, like they when they were kids and the Viscountess caught her disobeying the rules without her. That bitch and her bloody timing.

“What went down in the meeting?” The masks on both their faces betrayed nothing of what had transpired in the vault, however, in their chaos there was a soft lullaby singing about dangerous, difficult, choices. Bards weren’t the only storytellers in the Continent, nor the best ones.

A protective, invisible bubble grew from the Arch-mistress’ palms, encasing the four of them into it. A barrier where no words that left their lips could be heard by outsiders and the energy that it exuded beckoned strangers to get as far away from them as possible, “That bad?” Coral said.

Adjusting the sleeves of her dress and looking into violet orbs, the Rectoress turned her hard gaze on them, “Vilgefortz has Fringilla’s mark somewhere on his body, it was only by being in the sacred circle that I was able to sense her signature.” Her tone and her eyes were an icy thing, both with something dark lurking, hiding, in them.

“We knocked him out while the rest of them were busy arguing near the artefacts. He’s in a dungeon cell and false memories of him raising the guards will be ingrained in his mind after we’re done.” They had taken away his control, so even if he woke up, which of course he wouldn’t, for the dose of sedatives he had ingested could knock out even a horse, he wouldn’t be a problem and they could just wipe his mind.

It had been weird for the raven-haired woman to see Tissaia treating someone who had once been close to her as if he were nothing but the dirt beneath her boot. He had earned it, though. Nonetheless, the hurt that he had caused the brunette was the reason Yennefer wanted to choke him until the light left his eyes, “We need someone to take his place.” The violet-eyed sorceress added.

“You already have both potions on you, I reckon?” Taking them from olive hands the redhead inspected the content of both of the vials against the torchlight, such inconspicuous bottles, so ordinary-looking things that they were and even so their worth was that some people couldn’t afford even if they worked for it their entire lives.

Yennefer addressed her in that brusque way of hers, that was the complete opposite of her soulmate’s, “Tissaia thinks you are our best option Coral and I disagree.” Taking a strengthening breath, she went on, “You’re incredibly powerful, nevertheless, you’re also a medium, the strain of it is exhausting and there’s still two months to go.”

“You worry I may become a nutter.” It was touching, that the girl had risked a rather large argument with Tissaia, were they not in a public space, to tell her that she didn’t have to do this, that she shouldn’t, “I do fear you’ll lose the plot, permanently.” So harsh the armour she wore, compared to the gentleness that had never left her bruised heart.

“If we take her to my estate immediately after the risk decreases-” Maintained the Rectoress, ready to argue her case as if she was at defending someone that had somehow pissed off a noble and was to be executed for it, as she had done various times in her time in court.

Rita could remember the rare instances where the glaze on her grey eyes didn’t want to disappear, hours after the vision had passed. Incoherent answers to simple questions and wherever they were was always filled by phantoms only she could see. The blonde straightened her spine and jutted her chin, “I’ll do it.”

“Will you take on a responsibility as grand as this? Will you, really?” Challenged her cousin, one judging eyebrow raised, looking at her as if it was her drunkenness talking, which she wanted to believe wasn’t true.

The many times she had bailed out from important affairs and rituals were coming to back to haunt her this very minute, perhaps that was why Philippa, even being half her age, was the only one that understood her, though never as much as Coral did. She bowed her head, swallowing her biting comeback, “I promise that I won’t fuck things up, that I won’t fail her, fail everyone. Give me a chance, Tiss. _”_

A portal opened to the Arch-mistress’ chambers and they all stepped through, the remnants of the magic irksome. Rita felt clearly as someone pulled strongly at her hair, turning, she eyed a thin lock of it on the brunette’s fingers, the cork of the vial held by Yennefer’s left hand and the potion by her left one, “Traitor.” She hissed, nonetheless, the girl just shrugged.

Tissaia let the hairs drop in and saw in horror as the blonde fainted, foam coming from her mouth. She reached for her cousin, yet Coral was already cradling her in her arms.

The Marchioness took her cousin’s hands between hers, her mind racing to find out the why of what was she having such an adverse reaction to being bonded with Aretuza. About to summon the cure from her office she felt as the bottle was pushed into her hands by her lover and she didn’t know how to respond, too startled. The bond. Right. The logistics of it were better left for later.

Taking it and popping the cork, the brunette made her drink it, easing the liquid down her throat with caring motions. Waiting with bated breath as the rivulets of crimson stopped, colour returning to the apples of her cheeks and slowly, the redhead let go of her, aiding her so she could sit, the three of them joining her on the stone floor after.

Tissaia’s fingers were interlaced with Yennefer’s and Rita’s head was resting on Coral’s shoulders, “You have a problem, Margarita.” The other potion on her pocket felt so heavy it might as well have been a brick, at least the transformation was just uncomfortable and not painful. Gods, the brunette needed a rest from everything _,_ “When did it get this bad?”

“It has had several beginnings, several evolvements.” At first, it was just fun, there were so many things to try and her life would be so long it would be a shame to pass on anything the world had to offer. It grew to be a habit because that way she could imagine she belonged somewhere. She had been born with a madness no one knew how to explain, thus she never really managed to fit in. In the end, it had been to numb the loneliness she woke up with when even after all they had been through no one cared enough to send her a letter in fifty years.

“It has to stop. Before you kill yourself. This time it might have been the connection with the castle that threw you off the edge.” Which was still settling in her bones, humming in her blood, her senses on overload the way only one concoction an elf had given her could come close to comparison.

“Next time you might only have yourself to blame.” Her tolerance might have saved her arse more times than she could count, even so, the Rectoress had a point, one day it might not be enough. Maybe the blonde should be scared that she wasn’t that bothered by the idea.

“What difference would it make?” A bitter laugh left her and Rita grinned, “The bastard. The problematic one.” Swiping her thumb through the corner of her mouth, the digit became smeared with the sticky substance and she stared at it with wonder on her eyes.

“The free one. The adventurous one.” Travelling the world, getting to know remarkable people and seeing sights that artists plastered on paintings. Doing all of it while she was stuck in an office filling paperwork or hosting another entitled cretin when she’d rather be reading or drawing. Her cousin had never answered to anyone but herself.

“I never defended you as children and as students I pushed you away and as grown sorceresses, I never took accountability as to why we had turned into strangers that knew too much, that cared about the other...” She bit her lower lip, there were so few things she was as ashamed of as this one.

“I don’t understand things the same way you do. I never did. To me, a tree is just that and to you, it might as well be a palace for gnomes… I want to try again or at least listen to it.” With everything that had happened after Sodden her priorities had radically changed. They now included her cousin, keeping her safe and close, getting to know the woman she had become, “Your death would cut many to shreds. You’re astonishing, don’t you see? You’ve even bewitched Sabrina and Triss. That tattoo of yours is solid proof of it.”

Rita accepted the vial handed to her by Yennefer and smelt it, gagging, it smelt like a bloody voref and quite possibly it would taste like one too. She’d never admit to having eaten one, though. These bitches really owed her, “I suppose we’ll get to see if Vilgefortz has a sword or a dagger if you know what I mean.” Hiccupping, she stroked her chin where stubble was starting to grow.

Ivory skin became olive, tanned, her nostrils enlarged, her eyebrows filling in like a flogger, her lips thick. The rest of her body followed suit and the disgust she felt as her navel transformed was so fierce, she hollered with her hands over her mouth, still, worse than all of that, was the loss of her perfect boobs. She was going to rob the De Vries treasury for that, punch Henselt if he tried to stop her.

Tissaia counted one candle mark for the process to be complete and the obscenities that were leaving her mouth when Rita made her way to the bathroom would make any seasoned sailor blush. Another candle mark she had been in there, when she shouted at the top of her lungs, “A DAGGER THAT CAN BARELY PASS AS A SWORD!”

“WE DID _NOT_ NEED TO KNOW THAT, YOU FUCKING TOSSER!” Barked back the violet-eyed mage. She stood up, helping Tissaia first and then Coral, the door opening to show them the warrior master, the perfect impostor of him, only if dressed like he knew what fashion was for.

The blonde had even conjured a sword and holsters for daggers. No one would suspect a thing, even they were having a hard time finding any flaws in her imitation of him.

Winking the blonde’s way, the redhead opened a portal to the where the students that hadn’t ascended rested whilst they went through their own one to the Rectoress’ office. From the biggest cabinet there they grabbed the three thickest cloaks they could find, the fur trimming soft and warm as they put the cotton confection on, hoods drawn up.

Another portal and they made their way towards the entrance, enchanting the cloth since the rain was worse than anticipated and they weren’t keen on being soaked to the bone for hours on end. The gates were wide open, a few mages lingering here and there, while the rest of the Brotherhood was in the great hall.

They approached the tent that had been set up to make the finals adjustments to the ritual; it had a table in the middle, a bare map of Aretuza laid out on it, quill and ink ready to mark it, “I told you that’s sheer idiocy!” Condemned Stregobor and frustration flared in Tissaia’s chest, a fight was the last thing the needed right now and he seemed invested in provoking one.

Yennefer, who had decided to stay by the door, furrowed her brow and questioned, “What’s the problem?” Whilst three of them looked at her with mild annoyance, Rita found a corner where to lurk in, where to watch the show unfold. She had seen them all together once and afterwards she’d laughed so hard she had fallen off her bed.

Artaud pointed at the map on the table and the raven-haired woman reluctantly came in deeper, now alongside them, “We can’t agree on who goes where.” Her face flushed with anger. The vast majority of their meeting had been spent discussing that same thing, going over that same arguments again and again.

“We already agreed on it.” The Arch-mistress grabbed the quill and was about to dip it in the inkpot when she felt Stregobor’s hand circling her wrist. She went immobile, her mind screaming at her to slap him, encouraged by the bond, by the raven-haired woman’s discontent, however, it wouldn’t do to raise questions of something going on by losing the levelheadedness she was associated with.

As words were about to leave his lips, she yanked her arm away from his grasp with more force than necessary, walking over to the other side of the table, “North, south, east, west, it matters who is where. It matters who has the most control over what.” A leak formed on the roof of the tent and so Yennefer moved to stand beside her, her fingertips caressing the back of her hand.

Artaud rested both his hands on the table, putting his weight on his arms, both his limbs in front of the rest of his body, “Listen Stregobor I know you’re knowledgeable-” It came out in the most patronizing manner the four of them had heard from him in a decade. The brunette frowned.

With his finger pointed at his face, Stregobor retorted, “That’s one of the most pathetic ways I’ve been called old.”

The blonde stifled a laugh by making a fist and putting it below her nose, as if in deep thought. In reality, she was broadcasting what was happening to Coral, who simply chuckled as his face became redder than her hair.

The astronomer had an owl made of marble perched on his forearm, the eyes made of rubies, the animal was something they had found that morning in the vault and would replace him in broadcasting everything, as the artefact was made for that exact purpose, “We can resolve this without conflict.” Interjected Artorious.

“Your bloody niece is the cause of this conflict.” Jereed an exasperated Artaud, murmuring something under his breath that sounded much like; _"I'm surrounded by a bunch of morons with a saviour complex."_ To Rita, who had to cast a spell in order to try to not let them see her laughing at it, Coral on the other hand, almost fell into the eel pond.

The blonde was trying to figure out exactly how far removed of a niece Fringilla was when she heard Tissaia talking through her gritted teeth, “Stop arguing and start acting like the people that run the Continent.” And for a moment everyone stayed quiet.

She thought her cousin might have actually accomplished something and just when she was about to be proven right, the balding prick decided he wanted the last word, “This is too important-”

“For fuck’s sake! You look like bloody infants!” The flames of the candles in the tent flared, reaching an impressive height, all blue instead of orange. After taking the quill from Tissaia, she dragged the inkwell closer, daring Stregobor with her manner to do anything about it.

Giving them no chance to try to shut her up or talk over her, she began marking the map and explaining what it had taken her and Arch-mistress half an hour to understand, the exact time wasted since they joined them, “It’s obvious who goes where the key bearers go north and south.”

Her explanation was going to be delivered with her treating them as the children she had accused them of being, “Tissaia goes north because channelling lighting in the entrance of the castle, will maim Fringilla’s troops immensely. Stregobor goes south to make sure her scouts are useless to her with shadow magic.”

“Artaud goes east, negotiating with the sirens should be easy, since they’re so gluttonous, add them to the stone knights and the vault should be somewhat secured. Vilgefortz goes west to protect Tor Lara with the fallen angels.” Yennefer turned to the impostor woman, who nodded her head, hand on the hilt of the sword.

The way she carried herself, the mage could let herself forget it was merely acting. And of course, she had to be pulled back from her thoughts by an irate Stregobor, “What about you?”

The violet-eyed woman’s shoulders tensed, to the point where the muscles there ached, yet she forced herself to be as uncaring as possible, for their sake, “With Tissaia.”

The relationship between the Rectoress and the rebellious sorceress was simple in the eyes of the Brotherhood, for everyone knew the reason behind why she had stayed so long as she had, actively plotting against Nilfgaard. They thought she finally seen reason, that she came back to seek the Arch-mistress’ guidance once more and that was fine. However, there were some, like _him,_ that had proof to think it was something more intimate. It wouldn’t have mattered if it were someone else that knew and from Coral they were sure there was no way he would survive the battle, even so, in the remaining time he had he could still play the master puppeteer, as she had seen him do so many times, leaving them to pick up the pieces whilst he rested on his ornate tomb, with a smirk on his face, “With your Miss-”

“Finish that and I will sew your mouth shut. Leave you like that for the rest of the year.” Unfortunately for the lot of them, the two sorceresses were becoming very good at giving themselves away. Tissaia felt Rita’s chaos trying to tell her something, nevertheless, she didn’t allow for the connection to happen, snapping instead, “Time is a limited resource we can’t afford to waste more than we already have. Let’s go.”

Finally, outside, they kneeled, pressing their palms against the stone of the courtyard, quiet when their skin became soaked with blood, the rich beads of it dripping onto the floor.

The owl hovered above and around them, the pitch black of the night interrupted by the thunder that came and went. Tissaia extended her hand towards the sky, catching lightning in her hand three times in a row as four portals came to life.

Taking the chain between her fingers, she took the necklace off, pushing it into the ground, where the stone reacted and made room for it, sucking the pendant half-way in. The Arch-mistress redirected the bolts to go through the stone in the middle.

The base wards powered by the tower of the Gull activated and mixed with her blood and the potions, runes appeared everywhere; the walls, the floors and with some shimmering in the air around them.

Furrowing her brow, she began weaving a web that would further connect them with Aretuza, already feeling her fellow mages adding to it, beckoning for the castle's true power to come out.

For several moments, they were met with silence.

Voices, thousands of them and the feeling of it overwhelmed her, like the day before, only now it manifested as a blizzard, the Rectoress enclosed in a thin sheet of ice herself. She could see her chilled breath when it left her and what had been a cup became a lake.

Tissaia officially began the ritual when they hushed; _“Promissione fecit in antiquis temporibus, nam si te tulit somnia abierunt, relicto cicatrices in suo pro eo.”_

Parts of somethings and silver weapons began rolling to the surface, the stone moving as a circular riptide, more water than seafoam, formed around his bleeding palms, his kneeling frame.

They came alive, the bits and pieces, transforming before his very eyes into knights that stood at nine feet tall, a blue, shining, light coming from the hinges in their bodies. They absorbed the electricity around them, relished in it, in coming back to life to serve the duty they had been tasked with, millennia’s ago.

Surveying the castle, they picked up their weapons, crying out to the sky, to the Gods, if they existed, to the fallen who had been forgotten and to blood, all of it that had been and would be spilt, when the metal connected with the elemental.

Artaud could imagine them remembering, the one battle they had lost for their masters and if he fixated on the gems in their eyes, he could almost make out the scenes of the massacre. The ones the castle had tried to push on him the day of the bonding.

Stone against stone, they marched, dispersing and assuming their posts, only a shining green remained when they were done, chaos leeching into the ground itself from their broken bodies, _“Cum cruelness et avaritia conversus in symbolum, domos factus repleta sanguine maculas.”_

Stregobor was a man that knew how to handle power, the one that belonged solely to him was enough to have earned him many things in his long existence. He enjoyed the benefits of it in his daily life, his word unchallenged, the jewels adorning his person unmatched, etcetera.

Still, at first, it hadn't been enough. As a man who had risen from nothing, he knew that power without influence made someone be discarded when they should be listened to.

So, when he was an apprentice he dedicated his time to learn about the mind, its’ complexities, how it could build or destroy a thousand worlds and with time, bending them to fit his agenda became second nature. Every human was a puzzle for him to solve, a piece for him to move and he was one of the best players of a game few even knew existed.

Fringilla was too lacking to even be aware of it, let alone win and all the machinations she had concocted, he’d help destroy. His name has lost the reverence it had once been uttered with, that time when Princess Renfri was murdered and helping save the Continent would serve to force people to move on.

When it was over with, he would humbly accept the praise and push back, there was a give and a take and some kingdoms, much like his only one and true equal, still refused him, however, with this they’d learn what an honour it was to stand with him.

The Arch-master truly pitied every Nilfgaardian that approached his magic, since he’d let out the various spirits he had deemed too special to allow to waste away. No, they were better suited for his pocket, where he could collect them, test his newest theories on and turn their mindless wrath into something useful, “ _Non habitabitis in ea, qui sentiunt, id est, salutem veremur.”_

The weeping angels, the elves had called them and the story behind it had been told to her by one of her friends, over a cup of tea in one of their hideouts, after she had earned her tattoo.

When the first Elven Emperor was crowned, he sought to cement his rule over the others courts by building something truly extraordinary and when they came upon the small island of Thanned, he made his choice that same day.

The sculptures had guarded the land, their hands buried in their hands and the first drafts of the palace had accommodated their existence, only for one day in the early stages of the process, to disappear.

By the seventh emperor, they were waging a full-on war with every court and when the attempt had been made to abduct him from his home for later execution, his enemy’s plans had been cut short when the angels came out from the very stone.

At some point during the construction, they had decided to blend with the building itself, accepting it too, as theirs, mourning quietly for the lost, in hiding.

Their marble wings were now creating a mildly contained tornado around her, trying to make her an anchor for it, a challenge which the sorceress accepted gladly, slowly but surely commanding more and more of it, until all of it answered to her will.

Her hood was drawn back with the force of the wind, drops of water rolling down her cheeks from the raging storm and even in another’s skin, she was the living image of the beings that playfully approached her and then retreated to observe her.

And for a moment she was no longer drifting away, _“Sed cum hoc est, eorum memoria erit honorari, in carmina erit superstitem nobis.”_

It was both consuming fire, destroying everything, everyone, on its path and a gentle hearth which to come to after a bad day, where to find warmth and comfort when you had no other place or person.

It was passion; the hope that there was something out there worth breathing for, the one that got people through their darkest days and out of the bed, when all they wanted was to fall asleep, to never wake up again. Survival wasn’t living and they were worthy of knowing what it felt to love the sunshine.

It was obsession; when no matter the cost or the damage it caused you needed it because without it you were empty and empty was scarier, worse, than just broken. Reality was a fickle thing you couldn’t get a hold of and you were wasting away in the most merciless of ways.

It was love; rolling the syllables of their names on your tongue, liking the taste and a soft embrace were nowhere in the world would you ever be, feel, safer than that. Poets and writers were all doomed to forever try to translate that feeling into words.

It was hatred; rage was good, rage was kind, it kept you sane and alive, with blinding hot red behind your eyelids, as your mouth lashed the victim as effectively as a whip would’ve done. Somewhere along the way there had been a reason behind it but now you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care about remembering.

It was transformation; a twisted thing growing flowers on its scars, rough at the edges but gentle somewhere deep down. A helping hand to those whose wounds still couldn’t close because even if they learned to live with it, they’d never be able to forget how it was to burn.

Greatness was paid for in misery, but oh how sweet it was once you had it.

Yennefer screamed, _“Et cum forti corda, nos pugna, donec tantum cinerem manere.”_

╶

_“A promise made in ancient times,_

_for if you took our dreams away,_

_leaving scars in their stead._

_When cruelness and greed turn into a creed,_

_homes become filled with bloodstains._

_We cannot dwell on those who fell,_

_it is survival we respect._

_But when this is over, their memory will be honoured,_

_in songs that shall outlive us._

_And with courageous hearts, we fight,_

_until only ashes remain.”_

╶

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: I AM MATCHMAKING EVERYONE AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME!!!!
> 
> Also, fuck deities for giving zero fucks about their creations. Also, Stregobor, daaaarling, Tissaia will kill you if you come for her bae. 
> 
> Also, keep in mind that I SUCK at poetry!!!!! AND YES, I NEEDED TO FIT THE TITLE SOMEWHERE IN THE STORY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.


	18. XVIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Next chapter should be up by the end of the month! :-)

_XVIII._

Five days, they had been in Aedirn for five days and in that time their diplomatic efforts had not borne any fruits. The King refused to acknowledge the threat Nilfgaard posed to them, claiming Cintra had a fifth of the military they did when they fell, which was true, nonetheless with Fringilla at the helm that was an insignificant difference.

Only the Queen Mother had paid attention to what they had to say and Yennefer doubted that as sweet and accommodating as she was, she would be of much use, but Tissaia was sure there was something more in those grey eyes of hers. Her façade was too well crafted to be anything other than a fabrication.

They were preparing for the day ahead when someone knocked rather forcefully on their door and the raven-haired mage opened it to find one of the knights from the King’s private squadron, two swords at his hip, “Queen Minelli has requested your presence in her private chambers. Follow me.”

The two sorceresses were escorted through the palace by a man dressed in white and gold, his armour decorated with stags, as was customary for them.

_“He addressed her as the Queen and that is no longer her standing, she’s been the dowager Queen for almost ten years.”_

_“This is the moment when I say, ‘I told you so’.”_

The door opened by itself and their court mage stood up from the circular table to guide them to their seats. Rosette’s stare lingering on the woman that had previously occupied her post, “Rectoress. Yennefer.”

The brunette noted that her former pupil wore no gloves, so she took off hers, as a sign of goodwill. Pocketing them before sitting down, her hands folded neatly on her lap.

The knight that had brought them to the Queen departed after he nodded his head to the man that stood behind the former monarch. He was without armour, holsters throughout all of his body, containing all types of potions and weapons. Which could only mean he had no use for it in a fight; he had to be the best amongst their elite forces. One of their so-called Shadows, as Yennefer had informed her the Royal family relied on.  
  
“Take one, Jamileh, I insist.” Her pale hand motioned to the biscuits on the table, her voice soft and gentle, her demeanour pleasant, “You’ve been eyeing them since Miss Odella brought them.” Knowing better than to deny her kindness, the man took a cookie and began nibbling on it, eyeing their guests with open curiosity and distrust.

“Now, leave us.” His eyes narrowed his free hand on his poisoned dagger. Leaving her with three magic users, two of them that could very well not be in the castle for the reason they claimed to be, was not wise. All Aedirn would have his head on a pike if anything happened to their Queen and hells, he might turn himself over if it came down to it.

She repeated herself when she sensed he would complain, silencing him. Defying her in front of high-ranking foreigners, worse than that, dignitaries was a clear sign of disrespect which wouldn’t go unpunished by her son, the King and Gods knew their mage had loose lips for things like that.

One stern look from her was enough to make him compliant again, “Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed deeply, before leaving. His footsteps were non-existent, gliding through the room as if he was made of nothing but air.

The man stood guard outside the closed door and the Monarch turned her gaze on Rosette, making the mage soundproof the space.

“I suppose we’ve already met, even so, I was just a kid when my mother was assassinated.” Turning to Yennefer, she finally acknowledged their presence and the mage schooled her expression into a neutral one, lest the woman learned of her surprise. Yes, she had thought the Queen seemed familiar when they first arrived.

Minelli lifted her tea to her lips, taking a sip from it and relaxing in her chair as the hot liquid warmed her tense muscles, “You may wonder what happened after that.” She looked into violet eyes, coming to the conclusion she did not resent the sorceress, no, there was little she could have done, there was little anyone could have accomplished. It had been a lost cause since she, the first-born, had arrived.

“Well, the Prime Minister insisted I remain the Crown Princess.” That man had run the country after the mage disappeared and her father had been amenable to all his propositions, except who would wear his crown after his pitiful self was laid to rest. He had risked a war with her mother’s kingdom, small as it may have been; he would not bend now that he had won.

It had taken him months to fabricate the necessary proof as the Chapter covered his tracks most unwillingly. Weeks for him to bribe the judges that would oversee the trial. Days to leave her and her sister out on the cold, nothing but used goods that weren’t useful anymore.

“King Virfuril disagreed, so he had us declared bastards and his former Queen a whore. He died without heirs.” Vindication; she had been old enough to remember where she had come from and what had happened to the man that was supposed to protect her and instead choose to disgrace her, well, it was one of the best things to happen to her.

He had dreamed of unprecedented success and his rule was remembered as a shoddy joke and that was the only justice she considered enough to atone for all that he had done to his own family.

“My father wasn't very bright, nevertheless, I'm sure you can attest to that better than I.” Yennefer nodded her head, getting in return a genuine smile that was gone too quickly.

He had been an idiot at managing the kingdom, even the simplest things took too long to get done and they lost trade deals on the daily. Thus, regardless of the remaining, impressive, wealth of the nation, they were forced by public unrest to create their elite forces and their Shadows.

“The crown went to his brother’s son.” Tissaia recalled her family tree and indeed, the only male heir was the son of her father’s estranged sibling, who had been banished from court when his older brother had enough of him. That man had made enemies of everyone he could, including Cintra.

The Chapter had been torn whether to acquiesce or not to quiet his brewing rebellion and fix his mistakes. Calanthe cursed Aedirn in every public event she attended and with Yennefer presumed dead the first year after the attack, (a rumour she had encouraged to give her former mentee time to get herself together), they would have left them to their own devices, had it been a minor kingdom and not a major one that would fall.

“A maid adopted my sister and I, but when the red fever resurfaced, I was left alone in the world.” The day she lost them she became the woman that could murder and seduce her way to the top, that could save her country with a single act. A spark that had ignited an inferno.

Minelli had lost one mother, all the same, what she had gained had been worth it, Adella had given them a life of happiness that couldn’t compare to the silly stories she left behind in the castle.

“At age fifteen I became a Duchess’ lady's maid. Everything was easy after that.” She wanted a pious little thing that would not sleep with her husband and could accept the meagre pay they offered. The would-be Queen had listened to her rants and her stupidity with an understanding smile for two years, all the while aiming for something higher, learning what her cousin liked, what his wife did to make him hate her.

“Demavend’s first marriage ended when Magdelaine had a stillbirth and subsequently died of infection.” The way her eyes twinkled at that comment, it told the blue-eyed sorceress this was a woman they could not afford to underestimate. She had climbed far too high and kept her place, that was in and of itself a clue to how merciless she truly was, “Or so everyone thinks; I began poisoning her food when her pregnancy was announced.”

The Rectoress had often wondered how the kingdom had ever managed to be competent enough to move past the mess that was her father’s reign so quickly and now she had her answer, everything had been moved from the shadows by her. Minelli, who posed as the dutiful wife, the caring mother and the gentle, admired Queen. A predator in disguise. A woman that had perfected the craft of living in a men’s world and standing out, without magic, as very few did.

The Queen Mother clapped her hands, throwing her head back and laughing, “He mourned his lost love a whole week.” Seven days and after that everyone that was anyone forgot who that woman was and she had promised herself then, that when she passed on, even the stable boys would weep and the bells would be rung, as when the King died.  
  
Men listened to their base needs more often than they listened to reason. Delicate touches here and there, her eyes shining with adoration and wonder when he explained to her matters she already understood. Most important of all, her innocence intact in the bedding ceremony, “I made him want me and I didn't let him have me until my crown was returned to me.”

She turned to the black-eyed woman; whose cheeks had suddenly paled. The sorceress knew where this was heading, even so, she hadn’t expected the monarch to be so open about the things she’d done to complete strangers.

“After that, I made Rosette a deal, what was it, ah yes.” The brunette toyed with one lock of hair that was peppered with white, thinking, “Twenty thousand gold coins in exchange for four male heirs and my safety during my pregnancies and their births.”

Yennefer stopped breathing altogether and clutched the fabric of her dress. The violet-eyed mage didn’t have to look at Tissaia to know she had almost choked on her tea; she felt the moment her grip on her cup tightened as to not give away her misshape.

Aedirn traded in spices and precious gems, so it shouldn’t surprise her that the Queen had managed to take such a huge amount off the treasury without anyone noticing, but it was impressive all the same.

She has entered her wedding bed a more capable, ruthless, leader than what had been seen in her kingdom for over five generations. The only thing that had saved her nation from complete damnation, as idiotic as the males of her family all appeared to be. Should she have been more than just a consort Aedirn would be their best bet against Nilfgaard, “I secured my survival the day of my wedding.”

With time, she did more than that, after their third son was born the King had forsaken all of his mistresses except the one who had warmed his bed the longest, showering her with gifts and praise. No woman would ever compare to her, to her silent support and her appreciative nature.

Her daughter was so adored by her father, that talks about betrothals sent the King into a screaming frenzy, eventually adding to his testament that she was to marry whoever she wanted, which came to pass with a lowly Lord she fell in love with, at the age of twenty, elevating his station to a Duke.

The Royal Wedding was partially open to the public, like those of the rest of her children. It was a day where the common folk had expressed their love in all ways they could. Adorning the streets where the procession would pass themselves. No threats of anything looming in the horizon, only a monster would ruin such a glorious moment.  
  
“And for our people… I made them love me, so should their Queen mysteriously die, only to be replaced by a younger, prettier woman, they would shout their discontent and the court would act on it.” She had been extremely distrustful of him when they married, though her suspicion had ultimately not been warranted, she still needed to make them adore her, it wasn’t optional.

Minelli frowned, it had been harder than she originally planned, it had taken her almost five years for them to truly care for her, still, she never gave up. When it was safe enough for her to do it, she took her sons out to help feed the hungry and the damned, to play with the ones who before that day had no toys. Tending to the wounded Shadows that returned from missions of utmost secrecy, herself. Her personal staff lacked for nothing and they would gladly take an arrow for her, especially now that she was older, “Rebellions always need a martyr and nobles an excuse for betrayal.”

If she couldn’t keep the crown that belonged to her by birth right then she would watch from the seven hells how it all collapsed without her. She would make Demavend regret ever plotting against her from her cold grave.  
  
“Anyways, imagine my disappointment when only my daughter was born with clever eyes and a desire for more.” Her sons had their father’s brown eyes, his pride and stubbornness, thinking they were right until they were proven otherwise. Not her, no, she listened and plotted and protected, she had learned all she could from her mother, greedily. Amara was ready to take her place. Her family would endure whatever came, as long as the King’s ear still belonged to someone like the woman that raised him.

“My mother was a simple thing. Almost all of my children are, too. It is the greatest gift I could have given them.” She had kept them safe; they did not have to fight to be children, they did not have to fight for their titles, the common folk would not accept anyone that was not her descendant. The Queen had forged a dynasty.

“I was simple, too, a long time ago.” It had been lovely while it lasted and who was she to deny her blood the privilege she had once enjoyed when it was in her power to give it to them, “Pain makes people learn; happiness makes them forget.”  
  
“Now I am a liability. Should Nilfgaard capture me Aedirn will be lost.” Their enemy was much too callous, they would take everything they could from her kingdom until they were useless, before returning her broken form to her people, “I’ll paint the horizon red with blood before I let that happen.”

“Our armies need morale and this family needs fanatism.” Calanthe had paid dearly for her foolhardiness, her stubbornness, but Minelli knew her options and she had chosen greatness. Her memory would inspire affection, not hatred.

Murdering another anointed monarch would make them even greater demons in everyone’s mind and she would make sure her final move ensured the best-armed forces in the Continent. This was her legacy, “Dying a victim is beneath me. I've seen enough. I achieved everything I wanted to have. I am at peace. I will die in peace. It has been arranged.”

From her dress’ pocket she took a bottle of delphinium flower extract, magically enhanced to speed up the process of her death. Those blooms were native to Nilfgaard, a personal favourite of the new Emperor if the rumours were right, all that was left to stage her murder was securing the legitimacy of the act.

She passed the bottle to the Rectoress, who after taking off the cork smelled the concoction and immediately recognised her plan. It had been a long time since Tissaia had respected, admired, someone this fast, “My name will never not mean something.”

“Is anyone else aware of your plans, ma’am?” Asked Yennefer, sliding the poison back to her, shifting in her seat and Tissaia put her hand on her knee when she began growing even more restless. She then began carefully arranging her cutlery instead.

“We lie to those we love best to protect them and this will be the testament of how much I adored them.” They didn’t know and the violet-eyed woman pursed her lips, it wasn’t fair to her children, nonetheless, by dying like that, she was ensuring his son kept his crown and his siblings their life.

Yennefer could esteem someone that did what needed to be done when no one else would. Someone like her and Tissaia.

“The King will demand to know the culprit.” Remarked the Rectoress, her brow furrowed and her lips pressed together.

“My son is rather slow, choose whomever you like, it matters not.” Rosette stood up, dusting herself off and awaiting orders, “Fetch their dresses, please.” The mage nodded her head, portalling out of the room.

“Now that we are truly alone, I have a business proposal for you.” Now she possessed her undivided attention and quite possibly their large set of skillsets.

“Marchioness De Vries will make sure nothing goes wrong, validate that it was Nilfgaard’s fault and wipe our mage’s mind from all my sins.” It wouldn’t be hard to do, the Queen seemed to have planned out everything, they would be just finishing touches.

“In exchange for that, you shall receive ten girl’s worth of their full Aretuza careers.” If the Brotherhood fell, her childhood home could replace both schools while they were being rebuilt and that much money, combined with the part of Nilfgaard’s treasury that would be owed, could ensure no innocent child would be subjected to never learning about themselves, for at least two centuries.

There was one problem, though, “That much money will be impossible to travel with, even if we portalled it.” Ninety thousand gold coins would take a small army of sorcerers to transport, another one to protect. It was a great offer, but managing to keep the entirety of it just didn’t seem plausible in any scenario she could concoct with such a limited amount of time.

They saw the Queen stand and retire for a few minutes to her sleeping space, when she returned, she was dragging a velvet bag. The Rectoress stood up and levitated it to the table, only opening the fastenings when the monarch sat again and whispered breathlessly, “These won’t.”

The sorceress put on her gloves as a precaution and what she found inside made her put one palm against her forehead and her other one her hip. Yennefer, sensing her distress, stuck one of her arms inside, taking out a diamond that she had to grab with both hands for stability. She took out nine more of those, her mouth agape as she checked with magic and was faced with their authenticity, “Gods.” Roughly the same amount of money, more if they sold them to an acquaintance of the Chapter.

“You have my word, no one will taint your memory, Your Majesty.” Vowed Tissaia, leaning against the table, blue eyes determined.

Then they heard the buzzing of a portal. Two black gowns were perched over Rosette’s arm and she was about to open her mouth when Minelli interrupted her, “Ah, good, you’re back… Seize her.” The Arch-mistress threw her across the room like a ragdoll, the air leaving her lungs as she collided with the wall, unconscious.

Violet eyes went wide she accompanied her to their colleague’s limp form, the brunette kneeled, her hand on her forehead as she searched her mind, through thousands of memories to select all the ones that were filled with her crimes, ranging from political assassinations to hiding a large sum from the national treasury and telling only her daughter where it was in case the war was lost.

“It’s done.” It had taken her at least an hour since she knew so much more than them. The finishing touch was that she planted a false sighting of a mysterious, unknown man serving the dowager Queen. A flimsy boy should be easy enough to abduct and all the easier to place the blame on.

Blowing off the steam on her newly poured tea, the Queen said, “Very well, I shall expect you after dinner. Do take the gowns as a token of my gratitude.”

╶

Yennefer crossed her arms, leaning against the balcony, “I can’t believe you did that. She ordered you around like a maid and you said nothing.” Goosebumps formed on her arms, as she re-entered their chambers, realizing she had never before seen the Arch-mistress in battle or even a duel. Much less attacking one of her own.

Tissaia had charged the mage faster than she could react, had rummaged through her mind with expertise that could only come of being Rectoress and doing that to so many teenagers through the centuries. Had it been tasked to her, it would have taken her a full day, not knowing where to begin, since it had been four decades since Rosette had replaced her as her successor.

After the impromptu ambush, they portalled the gems to their chambers, hiding them where they kept their most valuable things and warding them so it would be almost impossible for anyone to take them. Whoever had the stupidity to dare try would most likely lose a limb.

“We’re the most powerful women in the Continent.” Repeating it helped her, in moments where she was reminded that even the strongest could fall. Both of them had already perished once, she wasn’t keen on repeating the experience. She sighed, to think she had once thought her partner invincible.

Queen Minelli was a perfect example of all of it, forty-seven years she had survived, thrived, in one of the cruellest kingdoms in the known world and now she was willingly forsaking that to save her family. To save her children. The children of her children.

She wondered what would it be like, to raise someone, to give them all you had, even if it meant your life. Yennefer had that with Tissaia, had already paid that price, yet their love was different. The violet-eyed woman avoided the topic, even if the brunette already knew through the bond that she still wanted a baby, for completely different reasons, obviously, still, the ache for one tiny, screaming, human hadn’t left her. Somewhere along the past weeks, the Rectoress had begun sharing that same wish. Both sorceresses had been cursed with always wanting the impossible.

“What do you think would have happened to you or Triss or Sabrina, had I not come to take you away?” Yennefer didn’t answer, it was too horrible to voice. She had first let herself admit what would have happened, to all of them, when the abuse was replaced by homework and the older sorceress’ presence. Soon after the 'poppy girl' incident, she would have been sold like a pig, repeatedly, to strange men to warm their beds. The blonde would probably have had countless brats until she drank herself into an early grave and the brunette would have been killed protecting her siblings and her mother from her grandfather.

“We can’t let that happen.” After Aedirn declared to the world that they would fight, it would be much simpler to convince the remaining kingdom that still refused them. Redania, the brunette’s home before Aretuza, the land where she would have married into the Royal family, herself, had it not been for her conduit moment.

Mortal soldiers couldn’t die from dimetirium and matching, perhaps even surpassing Nilfgaard’s numbers was possible, “We won’t.” With full grown mages aiding them they had a fair chance to overtake the south, its’ capital, in less than a week.

Her sister may have the forbidden arts to brag about, but no real mages outside of herself, no students of her schools would have ever made it through the Brotherhood’s tests, the final qualifications after that. She was relying more on her miracle children than anything else.

Still, the real fight would be in the castle. Her hand went to her choker and her eyes closed, Fringilla would breach the wards, she just knew it, they would just slow her down and take down as many as they could before the fight moved indoors. 

The raven-haired sorceress approached her partner, lifting her chin so they were staring into each other’s eyes, her fear and apprehension palpable in their close proximity and she understood something she hadn’t before; the Arch-mistress wasn’t talking about wholly losing the war.

“If I have to choose between keeping the Brotherhood or keeping you, us, I know my answer.” That was what she dreaded, having to choose and in the scenario, she was referring to, they won and all the Rectoress had created, the whole structure of their world was sacrificed.

All of her life’s work erased from existence like it had never meant anything as grand as it had been. Three hundred years of pain and loss and anger destroyed in a single evening.

Everyone knew salvaging Aretuza and their fellow mages would be a challenge, one so big as to merit Elven magic but the Chapter still had no idea how much dimetirium had been made and that ostracized them, making them the weakest army, “Five hundred years ago there were only a hundred ascended sorcerers. If what remains after Fringilla is done, is but a ghost of what we know, with time, our people, our numbers, will be strong again. I believe that.”

“We deserve a happy ending, my dear.” Tissaia kissed her and then she whispered, “Even if it’s selfish.”

╶

Dinner had been a glorious affair and it amused them the way the Queen was determined to go out with a pompous blast in every way she could, even if her audience consisted of only two people, who were still breathless from all the dancing.

There had been fine wine all around and flushed faces because of it, three bards that no one tried to start a fight with. Fireworks, after it ended all too fast, as good things did.

They walked to her chambers undetected, all her servants, including her knights and her Shadows had been sent on a wild goose chase seeking only Gods knew what, too besotted by the idea of who Minelli was to be able to deny her anything that heart desired or needed.

Yennefer knocked on the door three times with her gloved hands, which she had borrowed from Tissaia's collection since she possessed none and they weren’t intent on leaving any traces of themselves or their magic behind.

A creaking sound and she took a step back, standing side to side with her lover. The door opened to show the former Monarch, dressed in a purple, highly jewelled nightgown that reached the floor, her smiling eyes searching the corridor before extending her arm and allowing them in.

The two sorceresses followed her past the space where they had taken tea and into her sleeping chambers. The room was modestly decorated, lacking all of the fineries that they had expected from a woman like her, “It’s good to remember where you come from, so you may never allow yourself to fall from grace again.” Her face was in a mask, even so, her grey eyes still beamed.

If Minelli was to come back, if it was possible to do so, the Rectoress hoped she did so as a mage, it would be a privilege to teach someone like her.

Tissaia made way towards the woman’s vanity and unbottled the bottle’s cork, mixing the potion with the Queen’s tea and adding a very generous amount of honey to ease the acidic taste of the poison. She stirred the silver spoon gently, methodically, stopping when the liquid took on a red tone, “It should make the taste more bearable this way.”

“Thank you.” Minelli cradled the cup on her hands. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she sat on the edge of her bed, she was ready to die for the things she loved the most, her children and her kingdom, still, that didn’t mean she wanted to.

Yennefer looked at the blue-eyed woman, whose eyes were dark with fear for a few seconds before her mask descended once again, “You will fall asleep. Painless and quick.” She said, filled by the sudden need to comfort her.

Her violet orbs went to her wrists to find perfect skin and she discreetly hugged herself, the strings of fate that tethered them consoling her, it was a loss she didn’t know if she could ever recover from.

_“I wish it hadn’t been so high a cost.”_

_“There is no way to measure what I’d sacrifice for you.”_

In the time they had spent trying to delay the inevitable, the Queen had opened her bed and slipped under the covers, her dark locks, peppered with white were loose and they rested on her shoulders, “Yennefer? Tissaia?” They could sense in her energy her acceptance, “Burn them all.” She muttered, downing then the liquid in one go.

“Your Majesty.” The Rectoress gave a low curtsy, for the first time since she had been a child, pursing her lips as her eyes began to flutter shut, “Ma’am.” The other sorceress followed, mimicking her actions, not daring look up as life left her.

When the porcelain shattered against the floor, they stood up again, “She’s gone.” Tissaia sighed, both her hands against her womb as she muttered Elder words and all proof of them disappeared.

“Why are we mourning someone we barely knew?” Murmured Yennefer.

“I don’t know.” The Arch-mistress said.

╶

He was sat in his chair, the only light in the room coming from the lit chimney, a glass of whiskey in hand, “The Queen was poisoned. Who should die for that heinous crime, Prime Minister?” The golden crown on his head was heavier than it had ever been, as tear stains formed on his cheeks.

The maid that had found her had come running to him, hysterical as she cried like it had been her own mother. He wouldn’t deny he had needed to sit, a lump in his throat, he imagined his heart bleeding at the news, “A Nilfgaardian boy, Your Majesty.”

“The Rectoress, Miss Yennefer and Rosette have confirmed it.” All heads were bowed when he told the castle’s staff and they held each other as some of them cried, as some of them cursed themselves for not being more cautious.

The closest to her, the most distraught, called for justice, for blood, for the honour to spill it themselves. He always knew what could happen if the Queen Mother was killed, but the response they got went beyond his wildest dreams. The peasantry would have rioted if they hadn’t found the assassin as quickly as they had.

“Ring the bells.” He was a King and all he wanted was his mother, to hold her, to hear her sarcastic comments and endure her playful tenderness, “Send word throughout my lands and those beyond, that the Queen of grace and warmth was murdered by filthy beasts.”

“Tell them Aedirn is going to war. Tell them we will avenge her and countless more and all are invited to join.” He could not save his mother, so, he would raise hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: RIP Queen Minelli. One of the baddest bitches of them all. Lmao, I have so much fun creating witcher OC's.


	19. XIX.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Eight chapters and then the Epilogue. We're getting there.

_XIX._

It started with a ripple in the chaos around them, the tell-tale crackling energy that presided a portal. It opened to show dozens upon dozens of arrows coming through, all meant to slaughter the eight people in the throne room, nevertheless, calling on their magic, they didn’t make it anywhere near them when both sorceresses had already frozen them mid-air.

Moments later came the Nilfgaardian soldiers, about a hundred and thirty of them, enough to seize the castle and consequently the capital.

Yennefer redirected the arrows, as did Tissaia, commanding the bolts to pierce weak structure of their necks, the gap where the helmet and the breastplate was. The whole squadron was dead at their feet before they had a chance to understand what had happened, though, in all fairness, some bodies still spasmed, “That was rather anticlimactic, wasn’t it?” The raven-haired woman remarked, making her raise one eyebrow, blue eyes filled with mirth.

They proceeded to send out a warning that resonated throughout the entirety of the palace, for all the knights to leave their posts and come to protect the Royal family. The Rectoress and her partner both had a feeling the battle was not yet done.

A third portal opened to show Fringilla, dressed in black robes, with silver accents sprawled throughout the fabric. She looked thin, with bags under her eyes, chapped lips and her fingertips stained permanently the colour of silver. The price of necromancy. The early payments, at least.

She tried and failed to conceal her shock at seeing the Arch-Mistress alive, "I thought they shapeshifted someone for the envoy tour but it truly is you... How on earth are you still alive?" With pursed lips, the mage looked her over, as if doing just that might give her a clue as to why she hadn’t perished.  
  
"I owe you nothing, much less answers.” The blue-eyed mage responded; her tone laced with underlying rage. If it had only been her that she hurt when the dimetirium was thrown her way, she wouldn’t be gritting to teeth to not kill her where she stood and the only thing that was stopping her now from gauging her eyes out was the complete obliteration of all their plans. Unfortunately, Fringilla featured prominently in them.

She pointed with her head to the corpses around them, a hundred and thirty Nilfgaardians with unseeing eyes lying on the floor, “Your best efforts haven't even weakened me." There was not an inch of stone that remained perfectly white, a grotesque scene that would have been messier, had they not reacted as fast as they had.  
  
The sorceress cackled, "Tissaia De Vries, so arrogant and graceful, even whilst fighting a war. It's no wonder the Brotherhood probably went to the ends of the world to find you a cure." She imagined those idiots running around like headless chickens, without the Arch-mistress to guide them, her sister a mess, following the mage to the grave with her grief.  
  
Looking detachedly at the bodies around her, she poked one on the ribs with the tip of her boot, "What a waste, I was rather looking towards the battle." Looking away, she continued, "It was impressive, what you did there, nonetheless, I still want to see you struggle."

Suddenly, the pupils of her eyes turned into a line, like a reptile’s and she smirked, "I'll show you true power." Without someone to take from, her right hand started rotting like it had done her first day in Aretuza, the sorceress emotionless and quiet as she lost her limb. Except this time the curse had extended up to a little over her shoulder.  
  
Just as the knights began to arrive, the dead started coming back. The Nilfgaardian soldiers picking their weapons up from the floor, moving deftly into battle stances. Having been resurrected so soon after their demise, their bodies maintained the same prowess they had possessed in life. The only tells that differentiated them as undead were their still open wounds and all-white eyes.

"Cress! Protect the Royal family at all costs!" Roared Tissaia, "Behead or burn them! Nothing else works!" Thank the Gods she had encountered a few undead in her youth, else their efforts would be worthless.

It became all too clear to her then that her prisoners were not meant for only massive fireballs anymore.

The Arch-mistress bit her lower lip, moving her focus to what she had to do.

Channelling the fire of the torches into herself, as she had done in Sodden, all the blades of the living were lit on fire, "You insane harpy! You've raised the undead!" The Redanian guards, who had been quiet until that, began to mobilise themselves, their Captain’s orders strong and clear as the mayhem started.  
  
For a moment the clash of steel against steel and the bodies of those who wielded the weapons were things they could barely make out, all of them moving too fast. Even so, she felt Tissaia coming to stand back-to-back with her and from her chest balls of light erupted, floating away until they collided with the ceiling.

With the light returned they could see that their soldiers were not faring that well, vastly outnumbered, with seventy to a hundred and thirty. The Arch-mistress devoted her chaos to healing cuts and gashes that were not hers, trapping them both behind a poisonous mist, not unlike the one she had attacked Rita with, so they wouldn’t be distracted by the Nilfgaardians themselves.

Beads of sweat formed on their foreheads as they kept sustaining the various spells, the passage of time blurred between screams and grunts, the occasional cry of a small victory, the wet, sickening sound of skin being torn open.

Their muscles ached from the stain of channelling so much of Aretuza into themselves, their eyes stinging when they blinked. Balance and control. The latter was harder to master the more enchantments had to be kept stable and right now the number was too large even for them.

She tasted iron; her lip split by her teeth. Yennefer’s fingertips burned like she was holding them to a flame and even though this was less challenging than Sodden, back then it had only been her. Holding on to the bond with a vice-like grip was all they could do to not lose themselves.

They knew not how much time had been spent like that, only that when less than ten remained, Tissaia dispatched them with the poison that had protected the two mages, the smell of burning flesh and carnage immediately assaulting their nostrils, making their stomachs uneasy. Unfortunately, Fringilla’s voice was heard again, "Give me the pendant and I'll spare their pretty heads."

Cress was hugging herself, cowering before the madwoman and Rectoress smothered her rising rage, redirecting her attention to trick her former protégé to try and gain enough time to save the King, who had a dagger at his throat, “You should’ve taken it when you poisoned me. Did I not teach you to be practical?”

She looked through the corner of her eye at Yennefer, who had procured a dagger and was just waiting for the right moment, “I like a good challenge.” The brown-eyed woman commented, her blade pressed closer to the King’s jugular, a thin line of red appearing.

“Gambles don’t always pay off.” The Arch-mistress said. Raising her chin defiantly, which made the mage’s eyes turn abnormal once more, grinning so wide the corners of her lips were fully stretched and it might have been only been the dizziness she felt, spent from all the chaos unleashed, but she could almost swear her teeth were sharper than an average human’s.

Realizing that the Rectoress was unwilling to trade their lives for the pendant, she _‘tutted’_ playfully and purred, "Let's see if their blood is somehow better then, shall we?" For his part King Vizimir stood tall, unflinching as more drops of red rolled down his throat, even though his young son and two even younger daughters were all quietly weeping, the Queen holding her children, not letting any tears roll down her cheeks.  
  
_“Now.”_

 _“Yes, Mistress.”_  
  
"I think not, Ella." The blade landed in the middle of her good hand, embedded to the hilt, making her cry out in pain, stumbling and dropping what appeared to be her only weapon and finally, falling on her arse. This giving the King the chance gather his family and go to take cover with Yennefer, a ring of fire circling them and a ward protecting them so Fringilla couldn’t so much as come near them.

Tissaia ripped the chain from her neck when she saw her former pupil was beginning to gather herself, her demented gaze trained on her as the blue-eyed woman stuck the necklace to the floor with a spell. Taking a sword from the ground she struck it with the pommel, some strands of hair escaping her bun in the process of hitting it again and again and again until the metal deformed and the stone inside was crushed to dust. Panting, when she was finished.  
  
It had been so out of character for her to sacrifice it that Fringilla was still in the same position, whilst the Rectoress was busy getting her chestnut locks out of her face. Her anger exploded, the ground beneath their feet shaking, "YOU STUPID HAG! YOU’VE JUST DESTROYED ONE OF THE MOST VALUABLE ARTEFACTS IN THE WHOLE CONTINENT!"  
  
In her madness she lunged for the Arch-Mistress, only to be held in a chokehold and levitated to the ceiling, where she let her fall from, hearing the breaking of bones as her back collided with the marble, her robes ruined, "You feel intimidated and it's making you reckless." Said Tissaia, sneering down at her, dusting off her dress.  
  
Sluggishly, she stood up, falling once more, when she tried to stay upright and one of her legs gave out, "Leave, while you still can." Breathed Yennefer and with that, another portal came to life, Nilfgaard’s chief mage gone with it. The sorceress cancelled all the spells but the balls of light and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.  
_  
"You coming up with the idea of leaving the original one in your chest saved us, else, we would've been doomed."  
  
"I'm willing to accept a bunch of toffees as thanks or finally having you on your desk or both, I'll let you decide."  
  
"Not now, Yennefer."  
  
"Go on, ruin our fun because we have to deal with this mess like proper dignitaries."_

Cautiously, the Arch-mistress approached the Royal family, the three children holding onto the skirts of their mother, the Queen and her husband with his hand around her waist, “Your Majesties, I cannot begin to tell you how sorry we are-” The Rectoress was stopped and she waited for the man to have them thrown out of the palace or thrown in the dungeons.

“While I will ask of you to transfer another, more capable sorceress to my court, I was always aware of the threat posed by Nilfgaard to my family,” He said, rubbing his eyes, “Especially after what happened to Queen Minelli. Which is why we joined the war effort the same day you asked us to.” They had, the same instant it has come out of her mouth the King had accepted, their prolonged stay of six days was just meant to honour and celebrate the alliance.

“I hold none of what has happened against either of you or the Brotherhood itself, in fact, you responded to the threat the way I would expect my best Generals to. There are no grudges nor a cancelled union from Redania, I give you my word. That said if you will?” He pointed his ringed finger to the cut on his neck and with Elder words the skin knit close, leaving no scar behind.

Regaining his calm demeanour, he looked at the massacre around him and grimaced, “I suppose the ball will have to be cancelled.”

Yennefer frowned, she had been looking forwards to going with Tissaia to an event as glamourous as a Royal ball yet the King was right, even with magic, the throne room could not be transformed in just a few hours, especially when their reserves were practically depleted.

Straightening his clothes first, he then crouched to wipe the tears from his children’s cheeks with his thumbs, “Will you leave in the morrow for Kaedwen?” He asked, though not unkindly.

The King righted the dress of his youngest daughter, while his son hugged his father with the tightest grip his small body could muster, simultaneously hiding his face from everyone, “Yes, Your Majesty.” Responded Tissaia.

“I wish you safe travels.” He picked up the boy, carrying him by the neck, his small hands holding onto the collar of his robes.

“We shall retire to our chambers now; my children need to have a sleepover with their parents after what they witnessed today.” With that he took one hand from each of his daughters into both his own; Pamyel, the oldest, in his left one and Vretiel, the youngest, in his right one and then the four of them made their way to the door.

The Queen didn’t join them right away, instead opening her arms and forcing them on an awkward embrace, where Yennefer stood still and Tissaia patted her back. She whispered sweetly to them, “Thank you. I know only murmurs of what your pendant was, what it meant to mages and I will never forget what you did.”

Finally letting go of them, she smiled, her hands busy readjusting the crown on her head, “You both have now a friend in me.”

Both sorceresses humoured her, smiling back and helping her with correcting the rest of her attire, “Thank you, ma’am.” Enunciated the violet-eyed mage.

“Call me Sveta.” When they were finished, they turned to the door, where the King hand a loving look on his face and their children were demanding to retire for the night, for good, in high pitched voices and wails, “Bugger. It seems I’ve lingered for too long. I bid you goodnight.” She waved goodbye, catching up with her family.  
  
When they were sure they were gone, they crossed the room in large strides, to where Cress was waiting for them, her whole-body shivering on her two dainty feet, looking at them through her lashes. Yennefer could not feel more disgusted at the sight if she tried, so when the other mage was close enough to touch, she punched with her with all her might, satisfied that a big bruise was already forming on her face.

"I sent you here to counsel and aid the Redanian throne, to give your life for Its' rulers if need be. But you hid, frozen like a frightened rabbit." It was pathetic, the way that at her sixty years of age she was trying so openly to not be affected by the Rectoress’ wrath, "Letting the enemy get so close she would have killed them, had I not sacrificed the necklace."

"And to think you showed such promise when you ascended.” Perhaps it was true that she was getting soft, for at this point Cress would even make for a useless eel.

Still, she had the power to make her fate much worse and Tissaia assumed her most dangerous persona, "As a member of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art, as Arch-mistress of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers and as the Rectoress of Aretuza I hereby exile you to the far lands for the rest of your life."

A brand began to burn into the centre of her forehead, the blinding pain of it making her scream, "Should you be spotted in Thanned or any other kingdom I will perform your execution myself." The same symbol that had been used on Istredd, a sign that meant to mortals and sorcerers alike that the person bearing the mark mustn’t be aided or acknowledged, treated worse than a rat for the rest of their centuries, "Portal away now, you useless, worthless girl."

The few knights that remained and saw it happen averted their gazes as they were leaving. Saying what they were truly thinking because they thought them to be out of earshot, one commented that; _“I thought they were going to beat her to death.”_ And another one responded, _“They’re the most powerful witches alive, do you really think they’d be as merciful as to kill someone like that? I reckon they torture them in all sorts of ways before gutting them alive.”_

Yennefer and Tissaia stared at one another with narrowed eyes, as proven with Istredd, that was the exact way executions were performed within the magical community. Maybe Vilgefortz was serving also as a preacher. Thankfully, not a skilled one, from the carelessness and detachedness the guards said those things with.

Mortals were already wary of them without knowing how cruel the ways of sorcerers could be and Fringilla had a precedent for toying with the common folk’s beliefs and opinions. The Rectoress would have to send a letter to Artaud when they arrived in Kaedwen to tell him to get a grip on what information was leaving the castle.

Cancelling the last spell, they resumed their pace, which was slow, the way back to their chambers torturously long.

Both sorceresses were exhausted and they had only been to two courts. Serving as an envoy was certainly more draining than being a court mage, King Virfuril may have tried to kill her in the end but for decades she’d been almost worshipped.

The door creaked when she opened it and Yennefer longed for nothing more than getting under the covers and going to sleep, nonetheless, Tissaia and her knew that it was safer for them to stay up, with adrenaline still coursing through their veins and the lingering power of Aretuza, they’d probably make a scene when the nightmares that stubbornly refused to go away inevitably showed up.

Rummaging through her travel bag, the raven-haired woman took out a pipe, a container and three bottles of scotch that she had stolen from the kitchens in Aedirn, the fourth day the King had refused them.

Liabilities and choices. Everywhere they were was dangerous, everyone they had spoken to had already been talked to in their minds, calculating how they might react, which were the best strings to pull. Decisions that affected more people than they could even imagine when someone was left without medical attention so the herbs could be fastened into bombs in the kingdoms that had already begun preparing for the day of the eclipse.

Sitting down on the fur rug she lit the pipe with her finger, conjuring two glasses and filling them almost to the brim afterwards. She pushed one of them towards the Rectoress’ head, who was lying down, her fingers interlocked and her hands resting on her stomach, “We really shouldn’t.” The sorceress muttered.

“You’re just afraid I can outdrink you.” Rising, the brunette rested the weight of her upper body on her elbows, one eyebrow raised. Her partner waited for the mage to take the bait, “Rita wouldn’t have denied me.” Grumbled the woman, exhaling the smoke her way.

“That’s assuming you can be near each other long enough without trying to commit murder.” She summoned the pipe to her, relishing in the familiar feeling of smoke filling her.

“You’re full of bullshit.” Quipped the younger woman, her fingers picking at the white fur beneath her. Supremely annoyed at having to share, she childishly decided to mimic her voice, doing so with frightening accuracy, _“We really shouldn’t, we really should not-_ Bullshit, I tell you!”

“Language, Yennefer.” Tissaia took another drag, letting out the smoke through her nostrils, waving dismissively the younger sorceress’ way, “I’m the smoker, Rita’s the drinker, remember?” Licking her lips, she began to relax, rolling her shoulder blades for good measure.

When she heard no retort she turned, her eyes pausing just for a second on the raven-haired beauty’s lips, “Stop frowning, it’s going to get you premature wrinkles.” She commented, extending her free hand and smoothing the lines on her face gently with her thumb.

“Says the woman who doesn’t look a day over two hundred and fifty.” Inspecting her burnt fingertips, she rose, making her way for her travel bag and taking out an ointment, clenching her jaw to stop the whimpers that threatened to leave her when the cool cream connected with the scorched skin.

“And I still can make you come more times in the span of an hour than your precious Geralt could in a whole night.” Declared the Arch-mistress, a smug smirk on her lips as she tossed the remnants of the tobacco into the lit hearth next to her. Her fingers moving to adjust the pins in her hair, to try to redo her bun.

“That’s true, but I screamed myself hoarse and I couldn’t talk properly for days.” Putting back the medicine in the bag, she took out a clean cloth, wiping the pigments and the kohl from her eyelids with some trouble, for her wounds hurt just enough to make her clumsy, “And it may be a weird fetish, nevertheless, all his scars felt heavenly when I licked them.”

The Rectoress didn’t answer her. It was the castle’s fault, the exorbitant amount of chaos they had been cornered into channelling, she knew. She had just given it something to latch on, it was a reaction, it would come and go. Simple, concise, manageable, like one of the outbursts from when she still was her protégé.

Nothing felt real to her, not the moment she incinerated thousands of people to ashes, “Did you know that he can draw? He’s gifted at that, even if he rarely does it. Certainly more skilled than people who had tutors.” Much less that Tissaia made it out, being poisoned by dimetirium and all. The ritual. That the Arch-mistress wanted her with every fibre of her being, of her soul, that their love was tender and pure and had mended what had been so horribly torn.

She knew in her bones that _this_ was not who lived behind those violet orbs she loved, those she knew better than her blue ones, “Yennefer.” The mage was done with him, she’d chosen her again and again and again, no matter how hard it was for her to believe it at that moment. _Change of hearts happen_. No. Not to them. They’d last. Until the starts ran out.

Moments like these she hated herself, where she remembered she didn’t know how to live at peace, without conflict, especially, to be loved, properly, “Geralt made me laugh like no one else. When we weren’t at each other’s throats, that is.” And she knew, that despite all the marvellous walls she built around her, the raven-haired woman had the capability to revert the brunette to the girl who loved embroidery the wrong way.

“Yennefer.” This was not her; this woman was worse than who she had met in Rinde, cutting deeper, her strikes more precise, she wielded the whip more brutally than her father had ever done. _She learned from the best._ So had the Marchioness and the younger mage was better than either man.

To admit she was high would be an understatement, fucking Aretuza was hard to deal with in a good day, intolerable, with her body this weak. So, she had decided to end this fantasy of theirs on her terms, because Gods-damn-it, is this was to turn into memories she’d rather the messy end was fast, “And being a witcher his senses are too sensitive and that does serve a purpose besides slaying monsters. A man after my own heart.”

The brunette wanted to scream, she’d heard calls of her own, but she refused to bend, to hurt. Even so, the raven-heard woman had a fondness for the dark. She worshipped it as much as she loathed it. _Tissaia had hoped she loved her more than she did It,_ “Yennefer _.”_ She did love her more. Couples fought; they’d move past it.

“There was also the knowledge that we’d never really settle down, chasing adventure and coin our entire lives. I do miss the spontaneity of it all. I miss him.” Their life together was good and yet it had all been a falsehood she clung unto until it costed her what remained of her dignity. She left, running away, as everyone reproached her she always did but it was infinitely better than staying, than accepting that massive transgression with a girlish, besotted, smile.

“Fine, then! Go find him!” On very few occasions in her life had Tissaia lost her composure like this but she couldn’t help it. In her study there still were many missives hinting at just how much Yennefer might be missing him, detailing the many exploits they had had in the three short years they had been inseparable.

There was a pit on her stomach as she continued and the blue-eyed sorceress did what had become instinctive for her throughout her five centuries alive, starting after her conduit moment; digging her nails into the fair skin of her palms, though this time, she felt it break. The pain emboldening her as she fumed, “It ought to be simple enough, just follow the stench of an unwashed man and monster’s insides.”

“Tissaia-” Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ What had she done? Well, of course, she knew what she had done, she had actively sabotaged the one thing she had looked for all her life, the one prayer she had issued to the Gods whilst living on the pig farm. Gods-damn-it, why was she so bloody stupid?

“Don’t. Everyone knows how madly in love you were with him. Especially I.” She adjusted her sleeves, trying and failing to ignore all the knowledge of him her mind was providing her with and for the life of her she couldn’t see one quality in Geralt that would make him worthy of Yennefer. Yet she knew it might just be the jealous beast she felt in her insides and the Arch-mistress was, in fact, the lacking one.

Mouthing a curse, her hand went to her chest, the bond was flaring to life in painful throbs, nonetheless, her mouth continued spewing the things that had happened in her absence, the ones the Rectoress hadn’t meant to ever tell her, “Whilst you were honeymooning around the Continent _I_ was keeping the Chapter from sending assassins after you, killing the ones they did send.”

She began to panic, as the brunette stood up and pulled her things out from their third and shared travel bag, “Tissaia-” Struggling with the other sorceress like teenagers for a jumper that smelled of the Arch-Mistress and she used almost daily for sleeping.

A broken heart she could learn to live with, an overwhelming ache where the bond was, yet a wounded pride was another thing altogether, for she had only let Coral and Rita close enough to their pick at it before the violet-eyed woman came around, “I may have forgiven you many things, but making me look like an idiot before the entirety of the Continent is one I will not-”

 _“IT WAS A DJINN!”_ Yennefer screamed, clutching the piece of fabric to her chest like a child would their favourite toy. Putting the thing on and doing the buttons of it as fast as she could, as Tissaia remained unmoving, with blue stormy eyes as the temperature of the room decreased.

Her eyebrows made a rise for her hairline, the mage’s scream pulling them both out abruptly from their daze, “Pardon?” The Rectoress’ words lacked her usual, graceful, delivery, stumbling over themselves the way she had seen the ones of her newest charges often did.

“In Rinde, hours after you left, he came by seeking a cure for Jaskier. They struggled for the trap and he was poisoned.” There had been an initial attraction, yes, even so, she’d needed his expertise somewhere else and that town had been under her thumb the moment he was tossed in the dungeons. She couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for it back then, certainly not now.

What happened the next day was her most questionable decision, even if at the time it seemed like the greatest opportunity she’d be able to find in her very long life, “I tried to trap it in me, nonetheless, the wishes were not the bard’s to ask, as I first thought they were.” Perhaps her newly acquired reasonableness could also be attributed to the woman in front of her.

“He used his final wish to bind us for life.” Yennefer looked down at the floor, she didn’t want to see the emotions flashing in her partner’s eyes. How ridiculous, that moments ago she was so willing to make her suffer and still she would avoid acknowledging her disappointment on her.

Tissaia had to remind herself to blink, as all the lead in her gut left. The relief coursing through her was so immense that the words that left her were but a stuttered whisper, “I didn’t know that.” She was at loss, so used to be the woman that had the upper hand in everything, especially such type of intel.

“Neither did I. The Golden Dragon told me and he found the Djinn six months after. Made it break it, us.” From the corner of her eye, she could see how the white rug caught on fire, sparks jumping from the chimney due to her emotional instability. Apparently, the Arch-mistress wasn’t the only one who had a proclivity for such displays.

Yennefer grabbed a pillow from the bed, groaning. She struck the patch of fur that was being consumed, moving in tune with Tissaia when she joined her, as the flames refused to die by only her own hand, “Curse him! That fucking imbecile! If her ever crosses our paths again I will cut him open!” The brunette huffed petulantly, her face flushed as she extinguished the fire with one last hit.

Restoring the piece to how it had been before with the very last of her reserves she reached for the scotch glass that had started this whole thing, downing it like it was water and not a fine spirit, which was how she normally would have treated it as, “In all my five hundred years I’ve never come across a sorceress who’s had such a terrible taste in men.”

Her carmine mouth opened to apologize, but Tissaia’s tired gaze was on her faster than what she could vocalize the words, interrupting her, “Don’t.”

The violet-eyed sorceress didn’t dare move until after she had her third glass and then the brunette laid down on the restored carpet. Slowly, she mimicked her position, her frame beside her own petite one, an easy silence filling the room, despite their fight.

Yennefer was beginning to doze off when the Arch-mistress stirred and she knew, by the bond, that she wanted to talk. She willed her eyes to open again.

“Triss told you that you never really left the pigpen.” Tissaia rolled to her side, her eyes softening a little when the raven-haired woman followed, though her brow was furrowed and she was looking for the courage to object what she had always known was true.

 _"Hush.”_ Her lips formed a thin line, still, she obliged, “Well, she didn’t leave that hovel.” The Rectoress remembered their conduit moments, getting them away from there to the castle. Brown eyes that were as relieved as they were filled with grief.

“Neither did Sabrina that cottage.” Green that were filled with life once again the moment she explained to the blonde how things would work.

“And I never left the De Vries manor.” The thirteen-year-old girl she used to be, the ghost of her would forever linger there, next to the shadows and the memories and the whispers. She’d relieve those deep buried memoirs for eternity, so the Rectoress wouldn’t have to.

“Being raised in houses like that, they make you leave a part of you behind.” In her weakest moments, she’d seen her, so very different from the woman the Arch-mistress had grown into and no matter what she tried she knew she’d never be able to free that ghost, “It’s the price of getting out alive.”

“So I understand, that no matter how much you love me, sometimes you can’t help but want to cut me and Gods you do.” Tissaia didn’t move when Yennefer rested her forehead against hers, cupping her cheek. Violet orbs drinking in blue ones, the oasis to her desert. Giving and healing, until the younger sorceress was sure one day they’d be whole.

“That you can’t accept you’re finally safe. Safe to be loved, to be held.” The brunette kissed the palm of her hand, nuzzling her nose carefully against the skin there, “But you _are_ and I will spend the rest of our lives proving it to you.” Her whole body shook with emotion and her partner held her decidedly larger frame through it. 

Safe. Loved. And it was _real._

Even if there were still invisible gashes in her back, she could finally rest. Stop parading them around to entertain, hoping the show was compelling enough so someone would ask her what type of knife made them. An answer immediately given. The darkness of it used to bewitch. Her smile as fake as could be, her eyes screaming for someone to see past her mask and help her. 

Yennefer had tried so hard to stay put together after the ritual she ignored all the cuts it had opened and for all that she saw Tissaia, she couldn’t understand how the woman just agreed to live with her own. The sorceress accepted some would never heal, had taught herself to coexist with them, to find strength in them.

_“Because of you.”_

Perhaps peace was real, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Three more chapters next month ;-) (Hopefully, I just started a new treatment and got a puppy and I'm kinda wrecked over here but I shall do my best!)
> 
> .....Did I actually, honest to God, write fluff without planning for it????????


	20. XX.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Things are only getting harder every chapter. And that's saying something.

_XX._

Kaedwen proved to be a thriving kingdom, however much Sabrina being in charge might have suggested otherwise. The people they saw whilst riding through the capital were well fed, although not dressed in the finery the mages that resided in the isle of Thanned were used to. Even so, the vast majority of the peasants they saw seemed content enough and there really wasn’t much a monarchy could ask for apart from that.

Shops of all kinds lined the cobblestone streets, all of their owners attending the visiting costumers. Kids that ran after their carriage holding coloured ribbons, trying to catch the wind and giggling when they were successful, stray dogs barking at them.

Confined to the school all year save for special occasions, the vastness of the world was lost to her easily and the rare reminders of it made Tissaia feel lighter.

And despite all the joyful auras around them, the chill of the mountains was seeping through to the capital in a most brutal manner and though in July, especially because of the month, it shouldn’t be as cold in the region, despite its' natural proneness to it, the older sorceress could confidently blame it on the necromantic activities of her former pupil. After all, messing with death was an affront to nature itself first and foremost.

Hopefully, the scene they were leaving behind would last just a little more. Enough to carry them through the war that would soon ravage the world.

Next to her Yennefer’s brow furrowed when the rocking of their transport almost sent her crashing forwards into the seat that carried their luggage, stopping the collision by extending her arms in front of herself, “Why in fuck’s sake can’t we portal into the bloody castle as we’ve done so far?” Said the sorceress, who now gripped the edge of her seat tighter, trying to control her temper, for the little stunt in Redania had left them as fragile as a looking glass.

“Sabrina mobilised herself after news about Nilfgaard’s school first came out.” Her partner’s response was to roll her eyes at her vague answer.

The brunette paid her antics no mind, smoothing the cloth of her skirts and rubbing her gloved hands together as the younger woman cast yet another warming spell around them, “It’s too enchanted for us to enter without alerting the whole staff there are intruders in the castle and thus creating unnecessary hostility.”

That baffled her, she could not understand how it’d be possible for a single mage to ward such a large space and keep maintaining the protection on the daily without severely harming herself, nonetheless, the raven-haired woman would be damned if she willingly gave the Arch-mistress another chance to lecture her about refusing to continue educating herself after her ascension, “You’ll understand why when we arrive.”

Sulkily, she huffed. Recently, the pond inside them tended to be unreliable. Completely functional when they were lucky, akin to what they had experienced those first days after awakening when the stars conspired against the best interests of the Continent.

“It seems that taking your spot in Aedirn without so much as asking why caused her to resent Fringilla.” Days after the fight she had had with the hunchback girl on her office, her blonde friend had stormed in, demanding to know why she was punishing Yennefer so, going so far as to insinuate that maybe her sister had denied the older woman some rather specific favours and this was her way of retaliating.

The green-eyed sorceress was cold, yes, but that only made her more observant, alas, if she hadn’t been so emotionally tired, her former mentor would have hexed her the way she sometimes did Rita, for daring insinuate that she was capable of abusing her charges in such a monstrous manner, “Not that she’ll ever admit to ever have been that offended on your behalf.”

“She’d rather have Stregobor become her sponsor, I’m sure.” Tired of the repetitive process of the carriage bumping into one thing or the other the sorceress began to draw on the steamed glass next to her. Her fingers gliding through the humid surface without any real direction and after some formless doodles, Yennefer began painting skylarks and what she liked to think were ravens, soon running out of space and thus forced to give up on her little distraction.

The mage looked at the Rectoress and waited for her to return her gaze. A mischievous grin appearing on her face, as her blue eyes connected with her own, violet that mirrored the same fatigue, “Let me guess, the only mage included in the wards is Triss.” Tilting her head to the side, she rested its weight on the raven-haired woman’s shoulder, chuckling after inhaling the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

“Of course, she’s the only person who has that privilege.” Her partner laughed, interlocking her fingers with her own.

“How long do you reckon they danced around each other before actually getting together?” The brunette nuzzled her face further into her neck, resisting the urge to sneeze when her nose came in contact with the fur that lined the other’s cloak, “As long as we did.”

“We wasted a lifetime.” Tissaia bit her lower lip, clenching her jaw.

One of her gifts was that of an impeccable memory, which meant that no matter how much she tried to force it and oh, how she had tried, it would never let her forget those moments where in beautiful orbs she didn’t saw love, but cruelty and in their worst moments, hatred, even, “No matter how _complex_ our past is, I do believe we would have found our way back to each other, one day.”

A palm cupped her pale cheek whilst the one that was holding her hand squeezed it affectionally. An olive face coming towards her own, leaving so little space between them she could feel Yennefer’s breath, hot against her lips, smelling of mint and her lilac eyes, speckled with blue in some parts, along with the green pigment that most days coated her lids, “It was Destiny.”

Their lips met tentatively, the younger woman’s tongue caressing her lower lip, asking for entrance and she granted it. Her fingers running through silken locks, blue eyes closed, savouring the moment, as the rightness that was always present when they joined, one way or the other, filled her chest, leaving little room for the cold that was bothering her so. And just like that, the moment was broken by a tapping in the window of the carriage, announcing their arrival to the palace. Yennefer was about to tell the poor chauffeur off when the Arch-mistress kissed her cheek to silence her, only Temeria was left and after that they’d have a little time for themselves, to rest, if they managed to avoid bumping into Sabrina, Triss, Coral or Rita, of course. She liked to think her estate was big enough for them to pull that off.

Per protocol, the first door that opened was the one of Tissaia’s side, a calloused hand extended to help her down, though she’d much rather jump down, as she had done in Vengerberg. There were very few childish things she allowed herself to indulged in and that happened to be one of them, she might be small but the Arch-mistress had learned to have fun with it.

On the other side, the raven-haired mage took the hand offered to her with as much grace as she could muster, however much she wanted just brushed past the man.

Dusting off her dress of imaginary dust and redoing the knot of her cloak without choking herself during the process, she drew her hood on, for once regretting the vast cleavage her dress showed.

A squire carried their bags as they started walking side by side to the iron door that gave way to the rest of the castle. Whilst they waited for the servants inside to open the massive contraption Yennefer looked around them, her trained eye spotting faded, ancient runes in the floor that she knew the meaning of, along with ornately carved pillars that stood in strategic places, a clock of sorts.

_“Sabrina couldn’t have possibly raised the wards without help.”_

_“She didn’t.”_

_“So, she doesn’t fuel it from her own reserves, then.”_

_“That clock does, most of the year via sunlight, moonlight in winter.”_

At the entrance was the Prime Minister, who they recognized by the golden crest that hung from his neck, carved in the metal was an eagle eating a snake. Snapping his fingers, three maids appeared behind him, carrying quilts and warm beverages, the last one taking from the squire their travel bags, disappearing from view right afterwards.

He approached them, kissing their hands before addressing them, “The famed Rectoress of Aretuza and the mighty Yennefer of Vengerberg. My ladies, what an honour.” The man bowed and in unison, the two sorceresses raised an eyebrow, this could only mean that the tale of Fringilla’s attack had already spread throughout the entirety of the North, “Perttu Novek, at your service.”

Both mages nodded their heads in acknowledgement, waiting for him to continue, “Their Majesties are waiting for you in the King’s study, follow me, please.”

The violet-eyed woman politely refused the blanket offered to her, nevertheless, the Arch-mistress took hers and wrapped it around herself like a shawl, both women checking the chocolate milk with wordless spells before taking careful sips from their mugs.

The wings and the corridors they traversed gave away that the building was designed after a maze; rare openings that led to nowhere, others that gave way to the nobles’ personal chambers. This would make their task that much harder, so Yennefer devoted herself to leaving magical breadcrumbs for them to follow when the moon was high on the sky.

_“What Court do you reckon this one was?”_

_“The Court of Night and Shadow.”_

_“I see, so, as pompous as human nobles.”_

Meanwhile, Tissaia entertained their guide, offering comments here and there, still, mostly interested in the rumours that had bred these last three weeks they had been on tour. As expected, Queen Minelli’s death was the instance spoken about with the most sorrow and reverence. No human was truly unvalued, connected to so many throughout the course of their lives, yet it seemed the ones Minelli had made would haunt well past her death.

Another snap of his fingers and the empty cups they held in their hands were promptly placed in a tray by a servant that came to them from the wall and after whispering their _‘Thank you’s.'_ they glanced at each other for the briefest moment, their mental connection blooming to life in a mere instant.

_“Do you think they were added or are they the originals?”_

_“There are no visible hinges on the wall nor tapestries to cover them. They are Elven made.”_

With both hands, he turned the handles of the doors, one on each side and the soft voices they had heard coming from the room ceased, replaced by a mother cooing her babe instead.

The King stood from his seat, the picture of his grandfather, King Henselt, in the flesh, staring back at them, if younger. He extended his arm, motioning to the chairs in front of his desk. Lowering her hood, Yennefer joined Tissaia in bowing her head towards the monarchs and then they proceeded to take their seats.

From her pocket, the Rectoress took a copper circle the size of her palm, placing it on her lap whilst her she removed her gloves and when her hands were bare she placed the artefact on the table that stood between the sorceresses and the Royals. Hovering her hand over it, the tips of her fingers glowed and it expanded, breaking into four equal parts, “The latest invention of the Council, Your Majesty.” The Arch-mistress declared with a sombre face.

Narrowing his green eyes at the man behind them, the short man made to leave, nevertheless, a velvet voice demanded his continued attention, “If Your Majesties will allow, all Prime Ministers will be present and we think it fitting that yours attend the meeting too.” Twisting his regal lips into a half-smile to indicate his consent, the violet-eyed woman conjured another seat for the man.

Elder fell from her tongue with ease, Yennefer’s hands covering her own to steady the stream of chaos that was leaving her body, which made the infant scream in panic and then wail when from each part a bolt of light shot towards the ceiling, the image of four regal individuals and their closest advisors appearing above the metal.

Each man displayed a baffled expression, fixing it upon recognizing they were too being watched. Silence reigning for the next few minutes, the tense atmosphere of the room interrupted by a blonde, chubby man laughing freely, holding his ample stomach as he did so, “Ah, the wonders of magic never cease to amaze.” Cackled Temeria’s King.

Kadwen’s monarch relaxed at that statement, lightning a cigar and taking a deep drag, releasing the smoke in the opposite direction of where his baby, who had finally quieted, was, “Foltest, my friend, how do you fare?” He said, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the wood.

Swirling his fork around the air, he answered, “Better than Vizimir, I assure you.”

His gaze went the brunette man that was struggling with the handsy toddler on his lap, the child pulling at his jewels, until out of frustration, his father passed him to his main advisor, who procured a toy in the shape of a dagger and with a wide grin on his small face, the kid took it, running off into the distance. Adjusting the cravat tied around his neck and then loosening the first buttons of his linen shirt, Redania’s King took his crown from a drawer, placing it on his head and adjusting it to his liking, “Those cursed soldiers came out straight from the seven hells.” He growled, serving himself a generous glass of wine, downing the whole contents of it in one go.

Still in his mourning attire, Aedrin’s King finally spoke up, “From a shitshow of an Empire to a greater threat than what our ancestors faced with the Elves.” There were dark bags under his eyes and in his features an anger that would’ve made lesser men cringe. Between his thumb and forefinger, he rolled a ring that the Brotherhood’s envoys could recognize to have belonged to his mother.

Once again, silence, one she would have respectfully pass were their magic more reliable but since it was as fickle as chaos itself Tissaia spoke up, her face in a mask and her tone colder than the weather of the land they were in, “The Chapter has discussed what will happen to the Empire’s throne once Ehmyr is dead and the five of us have agreed on the stations. Temeria will choose the King and Kaedwen the Queen, as payment for Sodden Hill, as long, of course, that they share not a drop of your Royal blood.”

“Aedirn and Redania shall appoint the courtiers.” From two out of the three connections, they could hear murmurs, the King they were with saying nothing since his claim would be too grand for him to be able to complain about it. In Yennefer’s former court they heard escalating tones which were shut down as fast as they had come by a female.

When the remaining three finally expressed their agreement, Tissaia moved on to the real reason for the meeting, “The day of the battle there is a lunar eclipse, gentlemen.” Conjuring Artorious’ notes from her travel bag to her, she scanned the pages and addressed the monarchs, “Which means that Aretuza will be a portal to castles where their Elven makers’ blood was split, namely, all of yours. I think I need not explain myself any further than that.”

Several things happened at once, after that.

“Oh, fuck.” King Foltest’s voice was but the faintest whisper, the goblet in his had shaking ever so slightly, with his Prime Minister staring at the door like he wanted to make a run for it, standing up abruptly and deciding on rearranging the desk of his master, who just opened and closed his mouth again and again as all colour drained from his face, his face as pale as a piece of parchment in seconds.

King Rane muttered curses under his breath, before opening the door to the room he was in and snapping to a passing servant, _“GET ME THE BLUEPRINTS OF THE CASTLE, IMMEDIATELY!”_ Slamming the door closed, he ran a hand through his hair and popped the cork of a bottle, taking a swing directly from it. Someone they hadn’t previously seen rose from their seat and who could only possibly be his sister yanked the spirit from him, commanding his advisor to take him to Captain Uljas.

With his face hidden between his hands, King Vizimir sighed, “Gods-damn-it all.” He rubbed his eyes belligerently, ripping from his neck a key that had been hidden under his clothes and giving it to the man in front of him, who left at once with a hurried pace, to retrieve whatever it was that it protected. In their educated guess, the same last resort that Cintra had used.

Smoke coming out of his nostrils and his mouth, the last monarch left, King Arvo, grumbled, “Just our sodding luck.” His attention turning towards his wife and daughter, moving his chair to be next to them, embracing the Queen by the waist whilst he played the short hair on the babe’s head.

“Pick up your big boy breeches, all of you and let the Rectoress speak.” Intervened Duchess Amara, taking a swing from the bottle in her hand and wiping her mouth with the sleeves of her dress. Her words, said in such a disrespectful and coarse manner made the three snap out of it and summoning what was left of their control and courtly manners, they expectantly turned to the Arch-mistress. 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” The buzzing in her head continued, painful and distracting, however, now that she had their full consideration, she didn’t let it stop her. Straightening her back, she expressed, “As I was saying Artaud and I will provide safe havens for the Royal Families.” Even though the Royals didn’t voice it she could see that they agreed and she thanked the Gods for it, neither Yennefer nor herself had it in themselves to fight much more.

Sensing the exhaustion that sought to cripple her lover, the younger sorceress aided her, letting Tissaia’s influence guide her through the bond, “All capitals and castles shall be evacuated. Your most trusted fighters accompanied by ours in protecting them.” Without the nobles in them, losing those lands would be as significant as losing a village.

Taking from cold hands the notes the Arch-mistress had summoned, she laid them out in front of herself, rereading certain scribblings that described their most powerful weapon against Nilfgaard, even if they did lose, “As for Your Majesties, who will be riding into battle, there are medicines forgotten in these walls, which may very well save your lives.”

“What do you mean by that?” Asked Foltest, all of his previous hysteria forgotten as his green eyes searched hers for any kind of deception and finding none, he leaned forwards against his desk, resting his forearms on the edges of the wood.

Tissaia made eye contact with them before continuing, prodding at their thoughts, getting only glimpses due to the distance and surprisingly enough, it seemed they were much too intrigued by this to deny them their next request, “For any woman, noble or peasant, labour is a matter of life or death, this is common knowledge.”

Jutting her chin, the mage explained, “The first Elven Emperor made a fix for that, a capsule which makes the body go into a regenerative coma if ingested in due time. The larger the wound the longer it takes. To all around you, you will look dead, which will make smuggling your bodies out an easy thing.” She closed her eyes for a second and then resumed talking, “It does not guarantee your survival and it is not infallible, but it is the best we’ve got.”

Swallowing the pill, a second too late might make it useless, yet the success of the endeavour might give them a second fighting chance if things went wrong.

“How will we find them?” Came the Duchess’ voice, a quill in her hand, in the parchment underneath probably all the critical information that had been given away and she wished to further investigate, not that with the library they had she’d get far. In her decades there she had searched for magical tomes, but the majority of the ones in Aedirn had been burned during or after the Great Cleansing.

“We will, with Your Majesty’s permission.” The Rectoress turned to King Arvo, who was looking at his wife with a worried expression before addressing the sorceress’ words and with a short, terse nod they had it. Yennefer let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, brushing her fingers against the brunette’s under the table.

Continuing to write, the chestnut-haired girl spoke again, “How many of those are in existence?” Tissaia bit her lower lip and replied with as much detachedness she could. Her mother’s daughter, indeed. At least it was preferable than dealing with her hot-headed brother, “Four, the one in Aretuza was lost the day it fell.”

“And ours?” King Foltest queried, his chin resting in his interlocked hands, the fork from which he had been eating previous to the meeting next to him, along with a tray with an assortment of various meats and cheeses in it.

“Keep your staff alert, we will send a signal that should make them easy to spot... The artefact won't hold for much longer." They wouldn't, not that they would admit to it, "Thank you for your time, Your Majesties, Your Grace, Prime Ministers.” A tap of her finger against the copper and the instrument folded itself back into the circle the brunette had pulled out earlier in the day. A headache assaulting the two of them, their bodies condemning them for maintaining the connection for that long.

The King and his Prime Minister soon excused themselves, announcing that it was best if the Captains and Generals were assembled in the war room before dinner, which left them with only the Queen and the Princess, though not for long since her Lady’s Maid entered as the sound of leather boots against stone started to fade away.

Graciously, the Queen invited them to what seemed to be her private reprieve, littered with books from floor to ceiling and with various settees engrained into the spaces of the wall that were lacking scrolls. Tissaia and Yennefer sat together in the one in front of a chaise, where Her Majesty flopped down after putting the child in the cradle next to it.

After some polite chatter, a cup of tea and some biscuits, the young girl was dismissed by her mistress, who excused herself, yawning she laid down, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, leaving the two diplomats quite literally to their own devices.

In the gentle candlelight, they noticed how ill she looked; her chest rose and fell with difficulty, what was visible of her limbs looked swelled and was poorly disguised with makeup, a thin sheen of sweat covered her skin, the apples of her cheeks too red, as If she were running a fever and her abdomen was bloated, more than it should be for someone that had just given birth some months prior.

A Queen. A dying one. And if what their eyes saw was right she had little time.

The Princess started crying, pulling them back from their musings and as the moments passed her mother did not wake up to attend to her, so the Rectoress took it upon herself to take the child from her cradle and rock her gently on her arms, conjuring a glass snowflake that hung from a ribbon with her free one, dangling it in front of her to distract her.

Whilst the brunette was busy with the infant the raven-haired woman cast diagnostic spells on the slumbering body of the blonde, frowning at the results. This was not something mortal doctors or even sorcerers specialized in healing could fix without risking making her ailments ten times worse.

They were caught in those positions by the King, who knelt beside his wife, looking at them for answers, “All the best physicians that I’ve employed cannot tell us what’s wrong and without Sabrina, all we’ve had is their best guesses.” Biting her lower lip and looking at violet eyes for confirmation, the Arch-mistress sat back down on the settee, rearranging the blankets that covered the baby.

“The Queen’s left lung is considerably smaller than her right one, it restricts the airflow and her intestine is three metres longer than an average one.” Small, chubby hands finally got a hold of the toy, giggling at feeling the coolness of it, “Giving birth weakened her body too much and as consequence, her colon is twisting in on itself. Even I can’t fix this.”

“You are the only one who can.” Blurted out the younger mage, kneeling beside the King and ignoring the cold glare that was being sent her way, for her lover already knew, through their connection the cure she was about to suggest, which could all too easily end in calamity, “Your Majesty, I used to be a hunchback.” Pushing past the compulsion of the bond, she cautiously took a callused hand, covering it with both of hers.

“Yennefer.” She hissed, turning her attention back to the baby when she reacted to her tone with tears threatening to fall out as her breathing accelerated. Her tiny body and her uncorrupted mind were more as sensitive to everything, especially certain energies, as a sorceress would be.

Aggressively gripping the cloth of her cloak, she pointed with her free hand to the unconscious woman, whose life force had been steadily fading since she had succumbed to sleep, “We can’t leave a child without her mother when we can save her, Tissaia!” Closing her eyes, the flashbacks of that fateful night started coming back to her, fully aware of what it meant to undergo such treatment, still, it wasn’t in her nature to do nothing.

The mage swallowed thickly, her voice filled with emotion and the tips of her finger heated, tinted an orange hue, “Before we leave for court-”

A blast of cold air went off in the room, strands of hair escaping from her bun, _“Yennefer!”_ Tears rolled down flushed cheeks, making the brunette stand up to begin pacing back and forth, debating all the while how wrong of her would it be to forcefully shut the mage up with chaos.

Opening her mouth to further argue, the Arch-mistress was stopped dead in her tracks by the King’s raised hand, in his gaze a clear warning and so the battle was lost. Squinting her eyes, displeased, she redirected her focus to controlling her magic, along with calming the Princess down, “There is this ritual called the Enchantment, we sacrifice our womb, but all imperfections are fixed, scars vanish, eye colour, hair colour, height, even, change… Spines are straightened.”

With a wave of her hand, the vitals of the monarch appeared in front of them in terms the man would be able to understand. At this rate she wouldn’t make it past the end this week, “Her body won’t survive the strain as she is now.” Commented the Rectoress.

Although since its invention there were very few mages that had endured it without being sedated, even with the right herbs, the toll it took on the human body was too significant.

“That what we’ve got the ring for.” Smirking, from her middle finger the violet-eyed sorceress took the jewel her sisters and she had made to help fake Stregobor’s death. In their luggage, she had found it, after hiding the diamonds, tied to a note from Sabrina that said it was better to be safe than sorry since Ella was so insane and determined to end their lives.

Staring into the space around them like it held all the answers they needed, they felt as his resolve strengthened. He sat in the edge of the chaise, taking the hand of his wife and making with his thumb circles in the back of it, “How long do you need?” How long, not anything else, whatever it was they needed it was clear to them he would provide for. The King was as determined to save her as Yennefer had once been to save Tissaia.

Obviously, making the sedatives, the paint and preparing themselves and the Queen would be the priority. Exhaling, the Rectoress pronounced, “Between finding the capsule and the Enchantment it would be a fortnight.” The task they had initially come for would have to be saved for their spare time and it wouldn’t be much, with three weeks to the day of the eclipse. Only three hours at most to search a building of over five hectares.

“You wouldn’t make it in time to Temeria.” King Arvo deduced, smiling like a boy as he came up with a solution, “Fear not, Foltest was like a brother to my father, I’ll make the excuses for your absence. I’m sure he shan’t be offended.”

Taking the child from Tissaia, who looked like she needed to loosen her corset before she combusted on the spot and was instead just busying herself with conjuring a very-complex looking tiara for the baby, Yennefer added in a low voice, “Your Majesty, she will never bear children again.” What had happened in Aedirn had been a tragedy, one she didn’t wish to be the cause of, again. 

“That woman is the love of my life and the bundle in your arms, the culmination of it. My daughter, my flesh and blood.” He said, assuming the poise of the powerful and competent monarch he was known as, “Medea is as fit to wear Kaedwen’s crown as if she had been born a male, perhaps even more capable, if she’s taken after her mother.”

“As his Majesty wishes.” Tissaia said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: The envoy tour (I, me, the author) hasn't really been kind to them has it? 
> 
> I should have probably made the Kings more of an arseholes but y'all would've picked up the torches and broken the fourth wall.
> 
> Sorry for the time I took to update, creative burnout is a real bitch.
> 
> And yes, you read that right, one of my Tissaia's coping mechanisms is to conjure jewellery or toys or just knickknacks, sue me.


	21. XXI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Get yourselves a pillow you can scream into. This chapter is a bloody r o l l e r c o a s t e r and that's coming  
> from ME. 
> 
> The chapter was split in two because otherwise, it would have been like 9k lol.

_XXI._

Restless nights. Stressful days. All of them a blur that were blending together with the memories they couldn’t keep at bay from the castle, the impressions of the past and the present, all dancing behind their eyelids, ghostly touches that wanted them to join the never-ending story woven into the sinews of Aretuza. Reality was escaping from their fingers like running water.

But the bond called them back every time the compulsion was too strong to deny. An incarnate hand pulling them all the way back to their chambers, to the great hall, to the makeshift potions station the King had installed for them, to wherever they were supposed to be at the moment. Still, they knew that their siren would run out of sweet melodies for them soon.

So, they clung to anything and everything, every day more desperately, pretending the whispers in their ears were courtiers’ gossip and that the nobles didn’t know that unpleasant words were better off locked in your own head.

They were the great pretenders. It was their saving grace.

The Arch-mistress of Aretuza bounced the baby on her lap, whilst simultaneously checking that Yennefer was not messing up the potions to prepare the Queen for the Enchantment, which at the moment wasn’t the case, “You’re being too heavy-handed with the mortar, the juniper has to be a paste, not a pulp.” Reprimanded Tissaia, rearranging the blankets covering the Princess for the fourth time that hour.

Snowflakes were sprawled on her tight bun and on her eyelashes, the ones on her cheeks already melting as Princess Medea tried to grab some for herself, opening and closing her tiny fists like that might her hopeless quest. Disappointment etched onto her features when the few she did manage to grab melted too.

Whilst her inner turmoil manifested itself as ice and snow, they had yet to discover what was Yennefer’s distortion and Gods was she dreading the moment some blithering fool pushed the raven-haired woman far enough for her to lose any and all semblance of control, including the one afforded to her by the brunette.

She had never been an aggressive person by nature, on the other hand, her partner and Sabrina had to be separated and punished for fist fighting each other at least twice a month. In all honesty, the Rectoress preferred those to the elaborate pranks that normally ended up with at least a member of her staff in the infirmary.

Tissaia hurt herself. Yennefer hurt the ones around her.

Rolling her violet eyes, she relaxed her fingers and her wrist around the quartz, continuing with the circular motions, sporadically adding rosemary to the mixture that was forming in the stone until the whistling of one cauldron alerted her to duck, which, by some miracle, she managed to do in time. The Arch-mistress caught deftly in her left hand the ball made of the coagulated impurities of the animal’s blood, inspecting it for a moment with pursed lips before proceeding to place it on the table. It rolled away, eventually clashing with a jar filled with feathers.

Then the brunette sucked in her cheeks and opened her eyes wide to distract the Royal baby, sensing her mounting tension because of what had transpired and the many different sounds around them. The last thing they needed was for the guards outside to think they were mistreating their Crown Princess, though a baby crying shouldn’t faze them, Medea was being cared for by sorceresses whilst her mother was in a magical sleep had expectedly turned out to be a decision nobody but the monarchs were content with.

“Why, Tiss, if only Rita could see you right now.” Said the mage, lilac almost fully black. Her cousin would have probably taken this scene as potential blackmail material, make a mess of things with her loose lips.

People categorized weakness as different things; the other four members of the Chapter thought the Rectoress acting like a human being with emotions proved she was capricious.

Opening the lid of the newly summoned book floating in front of her, she scoffed, giving Yennefer no answer, “Another book?” Tissaia nodded absentmindedly.

This one was better preserved than most, without stains or rips, only decorated with the slight darkening of the pages, the spine and the cover scratched in some places. Even so, if wasn’t being held together by her magic it would’ve probably crumbled at the slightest touch.

Her blue eyes moved from side to side with impressive speed, pages turning every few seconds, “Hmmm.” A frown marring her perfect features as this tome gave her no useful information either. Medea grabbed her face, trying to rearrange it, not agreeing with her dissatisfaction and quickly getting tired that it didn’t work, the baby moved to play with the beading of her bodice, pulling and stroking alternatively.

“That’s the third one since yesterday morning.” Commented Yennefer, adjusting the flame and grabbing one of the many silver pots given to them, slamming it against the fire when the flame got big enough to cause an accident.

Reciting Elder she painted runes onto its surface with a brush, careful to not smudge any of them with the side of her hand. Grabbing a piece of linen, she dabbed her forehead and blew on the drawings, which melted into the metal as if they had always been there, “Hmmm.” They glowed, leaving the two of them blind for a second, after which she began organizing her working station by what was most necessary for that particular brew.

“Does the King know we ransacked the Royal library?” The lack of a placating answer meant the Rectoress had completely lost herself to the information she was studying, making her huff in frustration. King Arvo was most likely clueless that his two guests had seduced their way into his coveted collection only to portal a whole shelves’ worth of books that the monarch considered precious enough to keep under lock and key.

The younger mage wiped her hands on the apron that protected her dress and grabbed the baby, resting the weight of the girl against her hip, “My deepest apologies, Your Royal Highness but I need the Rectoress back.” To compensate that she had deprived Medea of her favourite human pillow she took from her pocket the first tiara the brunette had conjured for her, placing it on her head.

Squeezing herself carefully between the book and Tissaia, (who just leaned back to be able to continue to read, her hands clutching the edge of the stool so she didn’t fall), Yennefer invaded her personal space as much as she could and kissed her soundly. She smiled, as that pulled her out of her bubble, her gaze on plump lips now. When the Arch-mistress was too invested on her work or research flustering her was a failproof method to get her attention.

“What are you looking for?” The raven-haired beauty whispered, passing the baby back to her, who decided that the most interesting and productive thing she could do was listen to the constant heartbeat of the brunette, perfectly happy to just lay against her chest. Her tiny hand in her mouth whilst she stared at the other mage, the diadem in her head already threatening to fall off.

Raising one of her eyebrows, the sorceress replied stoically, “We’re in an Elven castle, looking for an Elven medicament.”

Glaring at the Rectoress in return, she moved back to the potion she was working on, adding the juniper and the rosemary concoction by the spoonful's until it was time for her to begin stirring it, “Stop being so bloody difficult.” The colour of it changing every few seconds, the fumes already clinging to her hair.

“Fine. Did you pay attention to your history class?” Her olive cheeks coloured slightly and she almost choked on her own saliva. The only reason she had to pay attention to class in her later years as a student was to try and memorize every tiny detail about their Rectoress, so she could recall them late at night, as she moved her hips against her own hand.

Shaking her head _‘No.’_ , she let Tissaia continue, “Of course not. I knew I should have given it myself.”

Holding her breath, she grabbed the silver spoon, trying not to think about the Rectoress’ amusement retelling things she had already lived through. A small smirk, as she was intent on not cross-referencing the texts because most of them said lies she had helped spread to mortals, but not to her students, no, chaos made them worthy of the truth.

“They Royal lines were chosen because they’re of mixed blood. Sons of concubines.” The silver fell from her hand faster than she was able to process it happening. Her vision swam, violet eyes unfocused. There was an unfamiliar weight on her chest, pulling her under, “It made them faster, stronger, their senses sharper. Just enough to fool people into believing the Gods had gifted, chosen them.”

“Then… _Why?”_ The words came out of her mouth like she hadn’t used her vocal cords in years. Flashbacks of her time as a hunchback littering the room around her, wherever she looked and still they didn’t give her a reason why it had made some Kings and her a _piglet._ An unwanted child sold for four marks.

Tissaia’s hand came to rest on top of her own which was grabbing the wooden table with such force she might get splinters in it and for the first time since the ritual she felt nothing at the touch, numb, “Yennefer, it’s a defect of the bones. Giltine pointed it out to me after your first appointment and I’m convinced he was right, though I was never able to check.”

She chortled, retreating from her, one hand on each side of her head, “And you never let me know?”

The mage wanted to be proven wrong, perhaps she had just forgotten, perhaps she had been too caught up trying to hate her that she didn’t listen even to it. Her blue eyes, full of pain and sorrow confirmed that the hurt she felt was justified, “You didn’t think to try? Even when you were going to send me to Nilfgaard?"

“I-” Just like that, they were back to being the people of that fateful day in her office. She rid herself of the apron, tossing it somewhere across the room, pushing past the brunette, “I do not want to hear it.” The younger mage mumbled, slamming the door shut behind her.

Without dusting off her dress or adjusting her sleeves she grabbed the baby that rested in the cocoon of blankets, putting the potions in stasis with a wave of her hand and making to follow Yennefer. Snapping in her native tongue at the guards that tried to shadow the three of them, making her lose track of the woman she was after.

Pinching the bridge of her nose Tissaia closed her eyes, following the string of fate that tethered her to her partner, opening a portal that she knew not where it led. The Rectoress paused for a second, apprehension blooming in her chest, her teeth now scraping her bottom lip. Stepping through the gash in time and space all the same.

Her boots landed in brown and orange leaves, withered roses and wild bushes surrounding her, a forgotten reprieve of sorts, lost to history by the long-abandoned looks of it. This must be as far as the wards had allowed her to go.

Yennefer’s face was obscured by her hair, her hands against her face, hiding it from view. Not telling her before today was a betrayal, she knew, _“Selfish idiot.”_ The Arch-mistress internally seethed.

They tried to forget, still, their wounds were raw. They tried to forgive, still, the transgressions had been too many, had cut too deep. They tried to go on, yet the past caught up to them, choked them by the throat and whispered the words that had once been their creed. Nothing sweet was meant to grow from tainted soil, “When you were appointed to Nilfgaard, I knew you wouldn’t go and part of me was so happy that I’d get to keep you-”

Something had been missing from Tissaia from the start. She was born with a hole in her chest. Looking in the crowds and the shadows since she was a toddler, only for the overwhelming ache of it to quieten the same day she came for Yennefer.

She sat next to her on the rusted bench, “I thought I had time. I thought _we_ had time.”

There was really no way for her to explain it, so the Arch-mistress bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood, tasting copper as Yennefer’s forehead came to lay against her shoulder, “I wouldn’t have stayed.” She breathed.

The brunette huffed. Of course, she knew she wouldn’t have, that didn’t mean that as old as she was she didn’t indulge in her fantasies more than was proper for someone of her station when it concerned her.

“But I would have come back...” Quieting her mind Tissaia nuzzled her nose against black hair, smelling her perfume, lilac and gooseberries filling her senses, “What I mean is… I understand… I don’t want to, but I do.”

The wind was crisp, the cold from the mountains had become more bitter every day they spent on Kaedwen. It reminded her of Sodden, of the consequences of giving up on one of her best students.

More people were going missing along the Sothern border, so she had been told the last time the brunette had checked in with Artorious. Enough bodies being discovered that the Chapter couldn’t appease the villagers with mere words, instead having to open the coffers of both schools to pay for the silence of the witnesses.

She looked at the sky, cloudless and foreboding. Tissaia remembered the panic such sights caused amongst the servants in the manor and after all her experiences she had to agree. When forces greater than any living thing were preparing for the conflict, things could never end well. They were living in the storm but they hadn’t yet reached the eye of the hurricane.

The violet-eyed mage stood up, extending her olive hand to her and looping her arm through hers as they started a languid step, without really knowing where it would take them.

After the scene the Rectoress had made she didn’t want to go back until supper was ready, rumours must have spread along the castle of what the guards thought might have happened and they were both nearing their limit, already daring their fragile and hard-earned health.

Leaves constantly crunched under their feet, though they weren’t enough to wake to sleeping baby. Broken windows and scattered somethings made the scenery around them, dried blood spatters if they looked closely enough. It was likely that this part of the castle had never seen the aftermath of the battle, had never been a spectator to anything but the thorns and the screams, long after the breeze had carried away the latter.

Stopping for a second, Yennefer plucked one of the withered roses from its messy bush, breathing life back into it with her tense chaos, black petals budding, making them both pause in their tracks. It wasn’t an unnatural colour, just exceedingly rare, odd enough that an Aedrinian noble would pay up to fifteen golden coins for a bouquet.

Tissaia took it between nimble fingers, “Different flowers have different meanings. I remember reading about it as a student.” Putting the bloom in her ear, her tongue came out to lick her lips, “Roses tend to have many colours. Black ones… those can inspire confidence by signalling the birth of a new era.”

They continued walking, searching, until the sun threatened to set, their energies finding nothing that could pass for a birthing chamber. About to give up Medea stirred, staring at the corridor next to them and were she older Yennefer might have told the baby she was just seeing distorted shadows.

Extending her hands, she made to grab something, so they just followed her babbles and her eager limbs to a wall they had already passed several times. Green eyes shining like emeralds, she lurched forwards, the raven-haired mage helping the brunette so she didn’t fall. Her fingertip grazed the stone, just the briefest touch to make it rearrange into something else, something _more._

The pestilent air that met their nostrils had the two sorceresses gagging and the child wailing instantly. Yennefer reacted the fastest, taking the baby from her partner, putting her in a magical sleep before the tears leaked from her eyes and she opened a portal to her father’s office, where she handed her off to the man, who was nursing a glass and startling him, for half of her body had been left behind in the garden.

Without any ceremony she closed it, striding into the room, willing her chaos to do away with the dust and whatever else had been trapped away in it for several centuries. Eventually, it was enough so that she could see clearly and Yennefer leaned against the wall, covering her mouth with her hand, her hand cradling her womb and her violet eyes beginning to water.

“Oh, Gods. _Fuck_.” The Rectoress rasped. The Queen and what might have been her child coming out of her were mummified on the birthing chair. The Elf’s face was twisted into a scream of agony and terror, her skin clinging to her bones too tightly, her eye sockets empty and her cheeks pulled in, her legs still opened, caked in dried blood and fluids. The baby boy or what resembled one had tried to come out the wrong way, with its feet first, the upper part of its body still stuck inside, the umbilical cord resembling the dried-out vines outside. The battle must have been all but lost for her maids to seal them in and abandon the monarch to her fate.

The Arch-mistress liked to think she could stomach many things but she was quickly losing the battle against her own body, bile rising like acid from her guts to her throat. Not able to fight it anymore she ran outside, tripping on the cobblestone and falling to her knees, retching violently, her exhaustion making her arms tremble, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

Yennefer ripped a piece of cloth from her dress so she had something to clean herself with, meanwhile kissing the one tear that was rolling down her unnaturally pale cheek away. Soft hands checked her temperature, making sure it had been the shock and not an illness they hadn’t noticed festering inside her.

“We can’t leave her like that. We _can’t.”_ The sorceress croaked. The great Tissaia De Vries sounding like a frightened child. Some people would have paid a fortune to see such spectacle. 

_“Rita and I would set them on fire.”_

_“Then she would commission a painting of herself in shining armour and you as her horse.”_

They embraced until the shaking of their bodies stopped, until their legs were steady enough to drag them back to the slaughterhouse. And for the first time since the younger woman’s suicide attempt, the sorceress found herself praying for strength.

Her own Rectoress had been a monster, an unyielding matron, far more twisted than the brunette had been to her students on her worst days. Always lingering too far on the side of lunacy, always too excited about her nefarious experiments, the ones she allowed the best amongst her charges to study. The Marchioness knew how to treat a cadaver, yes, albeit not with the same expertise as that woman.

Taking her dagger, Tissaia split in two what had once been a nightgown, the lightest effort tearing it apart, the remains of it landing on a pile in the floor. Proceeding to roll the fabric that covered her arms up to her elbows and wetting the linen in the bowl, she infused the two with magic so her task was easier, rubbing with care the grime and the blood that had accumulated on the Elf’s body off.

Yennefer ran her hands through what may have been auburn locks, the strands of hair untangling, submitting to her. When that was done she forced the static tendons to move to a more natural position, so she looked like she had been sleeping, like her last memory had been nothing but a nightmare, one she would one day wake up from.

They spent hours in that manner, being as respectful as they could whilst moving the body around, their chaos nearly depleted when they arrived at the cause of death.

The great cleansing was already a tale when she had been Viscountess and the date Kaedwen had fallen preceded the Arch-mistress by two hundred years, meaning that they couldn’t just will the boy’s body out of the womb. There was no other option than to cut her open. There was no other option than to ask for forgiveness.

Tissaia spared her partner of this part, as part of her schooling had been vastly concentrated on anatomy, not that it should have been part of the curriculum.

Biting her bottom lip, she inserted the dagger into leather-like skin up to the hilt and pulled, then in came her hand, her fingers searching until she could feel the scalp of the baby. Looking at Yennefer, she searched her eyes for confirmation and began pushing the tiny body so the other mage could receive it.

It proved to be a strenuous process, yet neither of them had it in themselves to hurt them to make things go faster and by the time the umbilical cord was cut they were drenched in their own sweat and foreign blood. When the sorceresses were done cleaning mother and son, they lay the body of the child against his mother’s chest, where many, many, many moons ago there was a steady heartbeat and love awaiting him.

Leaving them alone after they collected themselves, the couple started searching for the capsule, prodding every crook and cranny they could find, no longer able to rely on their magic if they wanted to have enough to bury them under the moonlight, instead of leaving them in what had turned into a prison.

Their best efforts were not enough, nowhere near enough, “I’ve aged centuries because of this bloody tour. When we get back to Aretuza I’ll look like Stregobor.” Yennefer let herself slide down the wall, boneless and uncaring. She was confident her dress was beyond salvation.

Sitting next to her, Tissaia, finally, blessedly pulled her sleeves back down, “You can pull off old age better than him, my dear.” She muttered, cleaning her hands with her skirt. At this pace, they wouldn’t make it back to their estate walking without help.

“That is not the compliment you think it is.” Complained the younger mage. Turning, she gave Yennefer a ribbon she had cut away from her dress so the raven-haired woman could tie her long hair back, a most undignified sound almost leaving her when her partner massaged her scalp first.

Much too soon it was time for them to start gathering greenery, cutting their hands in the process more often than not. Taking enough to leave the area surrounding them barren, the plants and the flowers offerings which they traded so they could dress the Elves in finery. They had died like animals; the mages wouldn’t allow them to be buried like so.

Fixing the Queen’s regal features had proven to be the hardest part, manipulating the betrayal, the terror, the pain and the overwhelming loss out of her skin and still, they couldn’t find within them an ounce of regret or annoyance as the sorceresses lowered them unto the earth.

Tossing her share of dirt, as one did with humans, Tissaia entuned, “The journey doesn’t end here.”

Yennefer continued, her hands damp, “Death is just another path,”

And together, “One that we all must take.”

The wind around the started to pick up aggressively, throwing branches and all it could take with it, the sheer abnormality of the situation making Tissaia rush for Yennefer instinctively, taking her out of harm’s way as best as she could, shielding her with her own body.

Then, lightning.

The ultimate expression of chaos.

It hit the Queen and her baby.

When they opened their eyes again they both fell down, for a moment worrying that they had snapped. But no, there she was, as beautiful and captivating as in life, cradling her baby with one arm and clutching something in her free one. The elf smiled at them, tears that would never fall forming on familiar eyes, green ones, like the Princess’.

She pushed something into Tissaia’s hand and the Rectoress opened her palm to find the capsule, _“A dying woman’s wish.”_ Said the ethereal voice and the Queen winked at them, _“And a gift.”_

A beacon of light formed where the now-closed grave stood. Tonight, their promise to the other kingdoms would be fulfilled, with some help.

They heard voices calling their names, the rescue party King Arvo must have sent after they failed to return, _"Thank you, truly."_ With that, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Coral may have predicted all of this and I dare you all to look for it, as Rita would do.
> 
> Also, let's pretend black roses exist in nature for a second.
> 
> "GANDALF: End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it. - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings."


	22. XXII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I warned you all before they left for the tour that was it was going to be fucking bedlam. Horrible. Terrible. Cruel. Dark. So none of you can tell me you didn't know what was coming- what is yet to come even with all I've already put them through.

_XXII._

To her credit, the Queen had not screamed much as they had expected, as the Arch-mistress cut her open with more precision than any surgeon. Yennefer by her side telling kind lies, like it would be over soon, with not much more pain for her to endure. It was terribly deceitful, alas, it wasn’t like Regina would be able to tell; the extent of her suffering would be erased by them, lest with the knowledge of it the King decided sorcerers were better burnt at the stake for their practices. 

She dropped the piece of meat in the stove, placing the pincers and the knife next to it. Rearranging her working station once again out of habit, checking that neither the instruments or the brews had accidentally been contaminated, sighing when she was sure of it and there were no more things for her to spend her time in trying to avoid facing the situation.

Moving to fasten the restraints around the Queen’s wrists and her ankles, the Rectoress tested the leather shackles and the chains, making sure the former were loose enough that they’d leave but the faintest marks and rashes on her by the end of the night, hopefully, nonetheless, tight enough she wouldn’t break free of them in her frenzy.

Tissaia had yet to meet a sorceress that had not trashed or convulsed their way through it, even being heavily drugged, no matter the insignificance of the things they had asked for, much less a normal human.

It was also supremely uncommon for them to have to fix malformities and from what Gilintine had told her, under the threat of exile, naturally, Yennefer had only survived the ordeal because of her mixed blood and upon hearing that she had almost opened a portal to Aedirn to strangle the girl.

The Rectoress herself couldn’t remember much of her own Enchantment, just that when she woke up recognizing the person in the mirror had been a challenge. Brown, long hair replacing short, blonde locks and perfect, smooth and soft ivory skin, that lacked all the scars she had accumulated throughout the years, devoid of the monstrous ones from her conduit moment.

From her utility belt, Tissaia took a thick strip of leather and began approaching the monarch, making sure she was on her eyeline before she actually started breaching her personal space. Nodding to Yennefer when she was close enough, who in turn went to overlook the fire, “Your Majesty, you may decide to bite into this or not. I would recommend that you accept; the breaking of teeth sometimes reaches the nerves in the gums.”

Clenching her jaw, Regina looked at the Arch-mistress in the eye, stubborn and uncooperative, like the brunette had come to expect from any person that wore a crown, “Could my denature be fixed?” She dared and the Rectoress gave her, her most pleasant and dishonest smile, the one she saved for particularly difficult nobles.

Her grip on the piece of fabric tightened and the mage replied, “Yennefer's reserves will only enough for a portal back to Rinde after this, for mine will be depleted, so I’m afraid it would have to wait until the war is won and all political affairs are settled. Furthermore, your diet would have to become like Princess’.” Frowning, the monarch reluctantly allowed the sorceress to put the contraption in her mouth, fastening it at the back of her head with laces that went through tiny hoops.

With that concluded she went to join the raven-haired beauty that was currently finishing the tint, grinding whatever was left of the organ against the metal and steadily getting it to be nothing but dirt. A spell shielding her face from the powder, as to not smell it in by accident.

Four bottled potions sat in the table in front of them, their last desperate attempt to get the Queen and themselves to survive the ordeal. The first which would be a considerable issue, if her vitals, the ones shown to the sorceresses by the incantation they had performed on her in the morrow, had been accurate.

In any other circumstance the Rectoress wouldn’t be as worried, but with the wards that protected the castle escaping over a hundred trained guards and just as many, if not more servants and a heartbroken King without a portal would be nigh impossible. Not to mention that if they somehow managed the Chapter would send their heads on a silver platter back to Kaedwen to regain their participation in the war. Living as a lonesome hermit and worse, in hiding, had never appealed to her and she was sure Yennefer felt the same, “Whatever happens we mustn’t allow her to die.”

“The King will want our heads put on display in the highest tower of the castle. Yes, I get it.” She passed the Rectoress the bowl and the sorceress started mixing it with a vial she took from her belt, infusing it with chaos for good measure too. Tissaia’s eyes half-closed as she recited words she was all too familiar with until the brownish hue of it was enough to tell them it was ready.

Sensing her trepidation, Yennefer took her pale hand into her olive one, “What is it that you’re planning?” Blue eyes didn’t meet violet ones and a massive weight settled on the pit of her stomach, all her instincts telling her to go follow her, yet proper etiquette demanded that they frighten the Queen as little as possible, so she had to wait for the brunette to come back to her, however unwilling she was to do so.

Ignoring the voice tugging at her consciousness, Tissaia went to the door that separated them from the rest of the castle, stopping right in front of it, with one hand resting on her stomach and the other one against the rich mahogany, drawing a rune over it with her finger, _“Subrinto Repere.”_

Her heeled feet carried her to the window behind where Regina was sat and drawing shut the small curtains, she dug her nails into her palm to ground herself as she felt a surge of power assault her overtaxed body, _“Muta pre sono.”_ She continued through gritted teeth, repeating the rune once more with her free hand.

Positioning herself in front of the Queen, the Arch-mistress slammed her boot down viciously, creating a ring of fire around them, the flames reaching up to her knees. The orange glow reflecting on her eyes. With her hands tinted white and energy crackling around her, she focused on finishing the spell as small drops of blood rolled down her palms.

Walking back to Yennefer Tissaia rested her left arm on the table, leaning most of her weight in it, “Anything is acceptable now. She _must_ come out of it alive.” The Arch-mistress hissed, downing the content of one of the bottles in one go, passing the other three to the violet-eyed woman for her to carry.

“You can’t mean-” Her mind went back to the battlefield, to how Tissaia had healed her by injuring herself so she’d be whole, giving her the chance to forget the bottle, to unleash her chaos and come out of it alive.

She shouldn’t have fucking told the King about the sodding Enchantment, it would have been just another dead Queen, the world wouldn’t stop because of it… One dead Queen that would have raised a happy daughter, who would have kissed her bruised knees after failing to climb tall trees... She hated having a conscience.

Brushing her knuckles against hers, her lips pursed, the Rectoress acknowledged, “I do.” It was the only option, tales of a dead monarch spread far too quickly and far too widely, they’d be lucky that if they failed they wouldn’t be immediately executed. They needed Kaedwen to fight Nilfgaard, not to hunt the Brotherhood.

“Then let me do it.” Tissaia opened her mouth to protest, to surely argue that she could do both things just fine, nevertheless, by now they knew each other better than to blatantly lie like that, “No. You’ve done this to dozens of girls, you’re good at it.” She put her thumb on the hollow of her wrist and caressed the skin there, pleading with her in the only way her dignity would allow in front of a stranger.

“Let me do it.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, the brunette finally acquiesced, rolling the coated brush between her fingers and calling forth her chaos.

_“En-te-re Purte. Te Puric.”_

The paint glided onto her skin beautifully, made of the charred remains of her womb, the one that had gifted her, her first and only daughter. Meanwhile imbibing the three potions necessary to aid her aliments to transform, to alter enough so that she may live a healthy enough life, however long the Gods decided that would be.

Yennefer dabbed away the sweat that was beginning to form on the monarch’ brow carefully, like she wished someone had done to her when she was undergoing the same transformation. She knew that if she hadn’t been so pig-headed, Tissaia would have ditched the ball for her, to care for her, whilst trying to not castrate Giltine for having the nerve to allow her to undergo the Enchantment without the sedatives.

Regina opened and closed her hands and averted her eyes from where the Arch-mistress was marking the skin from where she had taken from her the ability to create life. Her nostrils flaring as the brunette finally reached the soles of her feet and dissipated the bowl and the brush into thin air.

_“En-te-re Purte. Te Puric.”_

The sheer power these women exuded had put her on guard the moment they had stepped into her husband’s office, like their presence was too grand for them mortals, like the Gods themselves had chosen them.

So different from what she was used to. With Sabrina, she felt comfortable, could call her a friend even, for Regina had known the sorceress since Arvo and her had been betrothed at age four.

And the day of her wedding the blonde had confided on her that of her class she was low on the list the Rectoress kept, in an attempt to distract her from her overwhelming nerves and back then the would-be-Queen couldn’t imagine it to be true, she couldn’t imagine a woman more capable.

Not until her eyes landed on the Rectoress and her companion.

She was lacking compared to them, anyone and everyone was lacking compared to how nature itself seemed to submit in their presence. To how effortlessly they wielded magic that she had seen made rouge sorcerers pass out cold, bleeding from their noses and sometimes even their ears. To how all the mightiest Kings so willingly trusted them with all the held dear and more.

Now, as she screamed herself hoarse she finally _saw;_ sorcerers were part of the ether itself, their bones infused with something humans couldn’t hope to discover, to tame.

History was shaped by their kind and had been by the Elves before them and those who wore the golden crowns were nothing but placeholders.

When her ancestors had decided that human-kind must hold the reigns, that with their sciences they would discover the secrets to the universe itself, so the Continent could thrive, they had never stopped to think that magic would linger past the shallow graves of massacred innocents, that it would find a way to continue what it had started, millenniums ago.

_“En-te-re Purte. Te Puric.”_

The sound of broken bones was wet, like taking a whip to tender, rosy skin and she retched dryly, the Queen could see the osseous matter that protected her lungs as it shifted, as it expanded. Her whole body was burning because of it and all she saw was red.

Regina panicked as her awareness came back to her by flashes in between the excruciating torture; she breathed through her mouth, couldn’t seem do it with her lungs and the rise and fall of her chest was inconsistent.

Screaming higher and louder to prove to herself she was still alive as two hands grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to get her to lay against the padded chair, nonetheless, she struggled with what little strength she had.

The Queen sobbed, in her psychosis trying to claw open her chest to see what was wrong, to try to fix it, her desperate attempts thwarted by the raven-haired mage, whose cheek she opened from her cheekbone to the corner of her lip with long nails, to get her to leave her be. 

The whole trial was making her nauseous so she tilted her head to the side, waiting until blood came out of her mouth, though not the colour of crimson, but a dark brown one. All the while someone holding her hair back so it didn’t get stained with her sick, so it didn’t become dirtier than it already was. The same person muttering sweet words she couldn’t understand.

And suddenly… the smell of iron and sweat and vomit and herbs started filling her nostrils, clearer, sharper than anything she had ever smelled, the oddness of it making her head spin.

_“En-te-re Purte. Te Puric.”_

The sounds coming out of her mouth could be classified as shrieking, something she hadn’t done even whilst giving birth.

It looked like a giant worm has infiltrated her belly, twisting and turning, like when Medea had moved inside her only this was unnatural, like the possessions the High Priests talked about to their King is distressed whispers.

Then the pain augmented a thousandfold and as long as the creature had looked it began to shrink and the strap on her mouth came a little lose. The sounds no longer as muffled, her ears ringing as a consequence of her incessant wailing.

It hurt. It hurt so much she probably looked nothing like a human, but like one of the animals the cooks skinned.

Her body was moving without her permission, trashing around in abnormal movements, she had lost all agency over it, only her eyes remained obedient.

Queen Regina screamed like the lunatics she had visited in the bedlams. The monarch remembered pitying them, coming back to the castle and forming a prayer circle with her ladies in waiting, her closest friends, praying for their lost souls to the Gods, for the Mother and the Maiden to take them on their arms and cradle their broken minds, their broken bodies.

She hoped someone was doing the same for her now.

_“En-te-re Purte. Te Puric.”_

Tossing an apron to Yennefer after making sure the Queen was completely unconscious, she put on the one in her hands. Tissaia wasted no time in grabbing rags and wetting them in clear water like they had done to another Queen the week prior, “We have to be fast, King Arvo will be here in two hours and by then she must be able to sit on her own.”

Walking to the restraints that held the unconscious woman to the operating chair the brunette felt a hand on her elbow and paused, turning to look at her partner. With their illusions dropped for the moment they looked as bad as they felt, like before the bonding ritual, with deep, dark bags under their eyes, their hair like straw and a sickly colour on their cheeks. Breathing ghosts, kind-hearted ghouls, “Are you alright, love?”

“It doesn’t- It can’t matter right now.” Yennefer pressed her no further, transfiguring the chair into a makeshift cot, grabbing a basket with toiletries to begin correcting her hair, starting with brushing her golden locks. The Arch-mistress cleaned her wounds to the best of her abilities, especially careful with the still open cut below her left breast and the one on her belly, each one alarming in size.

Every few minutes they had to still her, for her body still remembered it had been in danger, even if they would make her mind forget the greater part of it soon.

Next, she bandaged the cuts, lest she ended bleeding out enough that taking her hurt wouldn’t be enough, that she would have to be bedridden and her husband would demand answers they were not willing to give him. When the Rectoress was sure they were properly tied, she moved on.

From her belt she took an ointment, applying it gently into the sore skin of her wrists and her ankles, waiting for a few moments before wiping it, letting out a breath of relief when the previously ravaged skin looked perfectly normal.

Sweat and grime came next, which Yennefer helped her with, moving the Queen’s body when the brunette found a spot she couldn’t reach.

The paint was particularly hard to get rid of, having to use ten pieces of cloth only for it to leave a faint stain. So Tissaia borrowed the soap and a sponge from her lover, massaging them into her skin until it was clean enough that when closely inspecting it nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Then they erased all the proof of what had truly happened from the room, leaving it as bare and clean as one of her classrooms. Inconspicuous, unremarkable, just as it had been when the Prime Minister had handed them the key and told them it was His Majesty’s wish that they use the room where their resident physician treated the members of the court when Sabrina was otherwise occupied. Alas, she was good at coming up with excuses, so in the Rectoress’ educated opinion the blonde most likely simply couldn’t be bothered to do it.

The sorceresses prepared themselves for the transference and having planned for it, to do it herself and not the beautiful, noble, valiant, idiot that was Yennefer volunteering and making valid points as to why she shouldn’t while at it, Tissaia had already summoned to her a vial of what witchers used to thicken their blood so they wouldn’t bleed out as fast.

King Arvo was sweet and cheery if a bit dumb and oh did he enjoy the magnificent parties his station allowed him to hold and he had seized this opportunity like a child the offer of toffees. He had insisted for days that they stayed for the feast that was going to be held in their honour.

Whilst the violet-eyed mage downed it, the Rectoress went to the wooden table and started righting herself with the help of mirror laying on it, nimble fingers adjusting her sleeves and redoing her chignon, dusting off her dress and whatnot, enough so she could look somewhat presentable.

Clearing her throat, Yennefer extended her hand and Tissaia’s came to rest on top of it; the Rectoress guided her through the movements, muttered the words simultaneously. Holding her by the waist as her skin began ripping itself open gruesomely and to their surprise a grunt left the Arch-mistress, as she found herself beginning to bleed too, her hand coming back sticky with blood from her under her left breast.

Staggering back a few steps till her partner grabbed her by the wrist and steadied her, she fretted, her brow creased and her lips twisted, “Why the fuck are you bleeding? Why the fucking hell are your eyes like mine?” Letting go she applied pressure with both her hands to the brunette's wound, “I think… The bond.” Tissaia mumbled as a response.

Forcing herself to snap back to reality, she cleaned her hands on the apron before taking it off and making her way to start dressing the Queen, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, leaving a fuming Yennefer behind, who took off the offending garment more aggressively than necessary.

When she was done with the undergarments, the shift and the dress, the Rectoress mimicked the elaborate updo she had seen on her the first day they arrived. Lastly, erasing her mind of most of what she had undergone, just enough to make it an unpleasant but not traumatic experience.

Helping Regina sit up, she turned to Yennefer.

_“The King is outside the door, about to burst in. Put on our illusions, he cannot be allowed to see the blood or our eyes or the state I'm in.”_

Getting no answer, Tissaia safely assumed that her lover was too enraged to lecture her about her disregard for herself using thought transference, instead wanting to scream directly to her face.

“Your Majesty-” Arvo didn’t acknowledge the Arch-mistress, only Medea did, sparing a glance her way and then Yennefer’s before her green eyes settled on her mother, who smiled brightly at the child which in turn made her babe giggle at her, ecstatic to finally have her mother back.

He crossed the room in large strides, his boots heavy against the stone and in his excitement her husband picked her up and twirled the three of them around, joyous laughter replacing the screams from earlier. Kissing his bride lovingly, like characters from a fairy-tale where their happy ending had finally come to be. If only life were as gentle.

Eager to get back to their chambers to treat the Rectoress, Yennefer broke the moment, “My King, the capsule.” He turned to look at his wife and they both pursed their lips, making the younger mage come to stand beside the brunette, putting her hand on the small of her back, ready to attack if they decided this was the moment to turn their militia on them.

Kings and Queens, powerful ones, were fickle little things. Success didn’t mean safety and every sorcerer that had served in a court had learned that lesson the hard way.

A radiant smile quietened those fears in them, though, “You’ve saved the only life I care about and before you protest she is Queen Regnant, not my consort. This is our thank you to you both, not the Brotherhood.” They bowed their heads.

╶

Expanding her energy to find a servant, she knocked on the wall hard enough to bruise her knuckles, snapping at a maid that if there wasn’t a sewing kit by the time they arrived to their chambers there would be hell to pay, “And I’ve got a long fucking memory.” She added.

The King’s staff looked at them like she was taking the Arch-mistress hostage, a darkness in her usually mirthful gaze that drew them away and by then Tissaia had long stopped trying to fight the mage who dragged her around like a rag doll.

Her legs ached for her smaller ones weren’t enough to keep up the pace the sorceress had set, so keen on getting her back to the guest room.

The Enchantment had drained her more than anticipated, enough that there wasn’t a trace of ice or snow around them. Enough so that her partner would have to be the one to have to open a portal so they could finally go home. Enough that she couldn’t heal herself. Enough that staying awake was hard to do.

For once she was glad she hadn’t worn gloves, the majority of her collection all cost a fortune by the piece and she had collected them over the centuries. She was fond of the inanimate objects, long after the self-consciousness over her hands was nothing but a distant memory.

Now that blood coated the entirety of the hand she applying pressure to her wound with, some still rolling down to her stomach, it seemed to Tissaia her mind had turned on her automatic defences, like distracting her with trivial things, as it had done when she was a child.

Eventually, she registered the hands of her lover undressing her, fumbling with the buttons and the laces, as used as she was to just divesting her with magic when they were going to make love. Increasingly vulgar curses leaving her tongue as she pricked her finger with the dagger that was attached to her thigh, when she tried to rid her of her stockings, “Language.” The Rectoress managed to chime in.

Drowsiness made its way into her body like waves hitting the shoreline, only getting bigger and she vaguely heard Yennefer yell and curse at a servant for their tardiness, slamming the door closed on their faces.

Ransacking the box and groaning when she couldn’t insert the thread on the needle on the first try. She rushed to her when it was done, unnerved by the Tissaia she saw.

The fool, the younger mage knew something was going to go wrong the moment she confirmed to her that taking the Queen’s wounds was the only viable option, wary of what the night would bring. Rightfully so. Fucking Destiny and its’ fucking love of making things harder than they should be.

No matter, she forced down the rising anxiety whilst her mind was in the gutter. Hopefully, the gutter included a very relaxed version of them, engaging in mundane activates they hadn’t been able to do since they started playing dignitaries for the Gods-damned-tour.

Yennefer waited with bated breath for something to happen, for the brunette to return to her but nothing happened, she just stayed catatonic.

Back to the basics, then.

Someone shaking her back and forth, agitatedly calling her back to the world of the living. Lunging for her attacker and tackling them both to the floor before realizing just who was pinned under her and who was had a very inappropriate grin in her lips. She apologized, sitting at the edge of the mattress again, “What was that for?!”

Still on the floor, Yennefer rested her weight on her elbows, the needle safe on her right hand, “You’re the one that taught me a bleeding person can’t be allowed to fall asleep. Did you not?” She huffed, blowing on a lock of raven hair until it was no longer on her face, wriggling her eyebrows when she was finally successful.

“I did. Now give me that.” The sorceress did as told, sitting next to her and pinching the skin together.

Inhaling deeply and holding her breath, Tissaia pierced her skin and began sewing, making sure to anchor the stitches as she went. They had to replace the thread several times for the gash to be fully closed, with sixty stitches in total. Even so, by the time she was done with herself, they looked perfect, like the ones she had taught Triss to do.

Moving to straddle Yennefer and settling her weight on her thighs, she thanked the Gods that the dress she had chosen to wear opened by the front and required her to not wear a shift, as most of hers did, anyways.

With the Rectoress’ discarded one she cleaned the blood that had leaked from her wound.

And so, she began, kissing the skin above the gash when a particularly distressed sound left her lips. Hers was messier, larger than it had looked on Regina and so it took her three candle marks to finish, every now and then making sure that the stitches were sturdy enough, tight enough. Tissaia counted ninety in the end.

She looked lovely, her chest and her face flushed, her hair spread around her like a halo and the Arch-mistress couldn’t help herself, closing the distance between then and kissing her, licking at the seams of her lips and exploring it with her mouth as nimble fingers took each and every one of the pins that held her bun up off.

Sitting up, Yennefer took her face between her hands, holding her as one would the greatest treasure, undying and unconditional love visible even with the potion she had had the raven-haired mage imbibe.

She pressed their chests together, the delightful feeling of their nipples brushing against the others’ coaxing the brunette’s hips to begin moving of their own accord, her lover relishing in the throaty moan she extracted from her. Shifting her leg just so, enough that Tissaia could grind against it, her lilac eyes rolled back as she felt her wetness coat the length of her thigh, her body gaining speed with each movement.

Her pale hand sneaked down to the apex of Yennefer's pelvis, rubbing circles on her nub, lost to sensation. The younger sorceress nipped at her neck, barely prepping it before biting down hard, high enough that the collar of her dresses wouldn’t cover it up, unapologetically soothing the sting with her tongue afterwards. Absentmindedly, she smirked, noting, not for the first time, that the woman under her had an obsession with marking her again every time that particular bruise faded.

Soft olive hands grabbed her hips, as two pale fingers were inserted into her core, helping Tissaia move whilst thrusting simultaneously. Their eyes were locked onto the other’s, not wanting to miss the emotions that swam in them, a potent chill went down their spines, making them come together, the name of the other leaving their mouths like the holiest of payers.

Riding out the aftershocks, she made patterns on the brunette’s back and in turn she held the violet-eyed woman’s face against her chest, against her brand and the younger sorceress would be content to die like that, hearing her strong heartbeat against her ears, reassuring her that nothing was yet lost, nothing truly important anyways.

But of bloody course, someone had to knock on their door then, squeaking like a dying rabbit that dinner was ready and the royal family was awaiting them.

At least it made the Arch-mistress laugh.

╌

Tissaia woke up in the night to dull the fire on the hearth, but when by coincidence she touched her partner, her eyes went wide as realization dawned on her and dread rose on her chest. She grabbed the quilts and silks that covered them, throwing them to the floor, almost tripping on the blasted things as she made her way to her partner’s side of the bed.

Yennefer was shaking, bathed in sweat, unresponsive as the older mage pushed her nightshift up to see her wound. There was a clear liquid leaking from it and the skin around the stitches was an alarming shade of purple.

Pressing her hand against her forehead she could tell the sorceress was running a very high fever. Infection was the most concerning thing when treating a patient, especially a sorcerer since the sickness fought the chaos within, a back and forth that just sped up the process of the bacteria’s reproduction.

Nevertheless, that wasn’t as concerning as the unholy amount of blood that covered her from collarbone to navel.

They had to go to Rinde _now._

She gathered all their things, seeking out the power of Aretuza, even when she knew that it would want to harm her and it did, freezing her fingers, a thick sheet of ice permeating them, making her unable to bend them for the most part as she packed up and miniaturized all of their belongings, transfiguring one of the sheets into a handheld bag and throwing all their possessions there.

Putting on her robe and tying the straps of the bag to the cord that held it close she opened the entrance of their chambers, grabbing a passing servant and pulling him in, pushing him against the door, with her dagger at his throat, “Listen to me very attentively, you will carry the woman on the bed and take us through the palace undetected by _anyone_ and accompany us to a few metres further than the entrance of the castle or I- will- kill- you. My dear, you know the King won’t miss you and your family won’t last long before they go hungry.”

Digging the blade in hard enough to open a thin line on his Adam’s apple, she purred, “Do not test me.” He nodded solemnly, going to gather the witch on his arms and carrying her bridal style, covering her with one of the quilts on the floor as an afterthought.

Whoever had said that Miss Yennefer was terrifying when upset was a moron that clearly had never had the Rectoress threaten them, with her velvet tone as calm as if she was saying mere pleasantries.

True to his words he guided them through passages and halls that showed clear signs of disuse, distracting and confusing the people he spotted coming before they could figure out what was happening, “'Tis the full moon I tell you, mate!” Whoever the lad was it seemed he was always quite so particular, so no one questioned his behaviour, merely amused at his antics.

Deceiving the guards at the entrance wasn’t quite as simple and Efren had to pull all the favours he had painstakingly gathered over the course of the last five years he had worked here, but he supposed it was a fair trade if it got his head to still be attached to his body.

He had a wife and a son that needed him and he was well on his way to becoming a footman, more ambitious folk would be disappointed with that but for him, it was enough, it made him happy and he couldn’t ask for more. Being happy was so rare, so hard nowadays and having it should be enough, for a noble or a peasant.

The Rectoress opened what he thought was called a portal, frost spreading through all her extremities and she cried out in pain as the blue and silver _thing_ that was the outline swirled around, revealing a parlour on the other side. Efren helped position the other witch so the brunette could carry her long enough for them to step through it, “May the Gods help you, ma’am.”

Tissaia said breathlessly, “Thank you. Only for the sake of formalities if you breathe a word of this to anyone-” Stopping abruptly and biting down on her lip hard enough to split it because the cold was becoming unbearable. If it worsened Triss would have to deal with potential frostbite.

“You will find me and kill me and all that. Aren’t witches supposed to be awfully clever or something?” He bubbled as he waved goodbye, making his way back to the castle whilst whistling the tune a bard had made for the White Wolf.

Then the portal closed, both of them falling to the floor when the last remnants of magic disappeared. Crawling towards Yennefer she said, “We’re home. We’re home, my dearest.” Her breathing was ragged, her skin hotter than it had been when the Rectoress had woken up.

She shook her, feeling nothing but dead weight, a pool of blood was already soaking the carpet.

Tissaia herself wasn’t faring much better.

Now or never.

 _“SABRINA! TRISS!”_ The Arch-mistress wailed at the top of her lungs with the last of her strength, dropping unconscious on top of the raven-haired woman’s body immediately after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I had never done a cliffhanger before.... I feel powerful B)
> 
> These are the sentiments/meanings behind the spells (aka actual Latin I butchered so it'd sound more like Elder);  
> Subrinto Repere - Repel intruders. (Subintroierunt Repellere.)  
> Muta pre sono - Mute the sounds. (Muta Prout Per Sonos.)  
> ((The Queen collapsed from her injuries because she was a human and in my story sorcerers have a higher tolerance for many things, such as pain and wounds.))
> 
> I haven't got the slightest clue as to what “En-te-re Purte. Te Puric.” may mean, but it's the only thing Giltine repeats over and over during Yennefer's Enchantment.
> 
> Toss a coin to your favourite sorceresses, who are nearing a mental breakdown, oh valley of plenty oh oh ohhhhhh.


	23. XXIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I am back! I am SO sorry for this long interlude but I got Corona and a fortnight after my uncle's partner's mum died and all hell broke loose and a week after that we had a Corona scare with my grandparents AND THEN my other uncle and his wife got Corona. It's been a circus over here. ANYWAYS, Chapter 24 and 25 are already written and ready to be posted, so I hope that's some reassurance that I'm not going to disappear again (hopefully).

_XXIII._

They ran down the stairs with reckless abandon, taking two, three steps at the time. Adrenaline and dread pumping into their veins anew with every heartbeat when they found what they momentarily thought to be the corpses of Tissaia De Vries and Yennefer of Vengerberg, so still they were.

The ground shook underneath their feet. All they could register were the dolls sprawled awkwardly on the carpet, unloved by their children, abandoned like so. Only these made a pool of crimson appear on it, staining the wool beyond salvation, even magical.

Lightheaded they tried to calm themselves, to steady their shaking limbs. The two sorceresses forced themselves to gather their wits about them and partially successful, they dropped to their knees, checking for pulses, finding trapped hummingbirds inside their ribcages, bodies still on survival mode no matter that their consciousness were lost.

“What the fuck’s happened to them?!” Shrieked Sabrina, trying to separate them from each other, unsuccessful, since they were acting like human-sized magnets; when she managed to have Tissaia let go of Yennefer the brunette fought her way back to her partner. It would have made for a perfect tease were they not dying on the sodding floor.

Casting diagnostic spell after diagnostic spell, Triss began to lose it when even the ones the Rectoress had taught her failed to give her any concrete information, “I’m trying to find out.” The last one told her _‘Nothing terribly out of the ordinary’_ , yes, of course, why was a trained healer fretting over nothing? The brown-eyed sorceress ground her teeth in frustration. It seemed they had no option but to discern what was wrong from the obvious. The brunette pressed the back of her right hand to Yennefer’s forehead, her left one on Tissaia’s. Fever. Hypothermia. _Why?_

By unspoken agreement, they enlarged the chaise near the window that overlooked the garden to the size of a bed and levitated them there. The cold that sept through the floor to the carpet wouldn’t help matters, especially considering what needed to happen next. Gulping, the healer announced in a rapid, faltered manner, “We’ve got to get them naked.”

Sabrina cursed all the Gods and did just so, having to break away their shifts and their robes by hand, which were drenched and caked in blood. She left them laying on the pieces of fabric and went to retrieve two large pots from the kitchen.

Sitting and boiling the water inside the first one with chaos, the blonde grabbed the rags her lover had conjured and began wiping the fair skin, starting with the upper part of her Tissaia’s chest, where she found below her brand a cut large enough to be the size of her forearm.

From the bowl filled to the brim with ice Triss began to clean away the red considerately, encountering a gash that went from side to side on her sister’s stomach, sprouting a clear liquid no matter how many times she passed the wet cotton over the stitches, the tissue around the thread already forming angry hives, “Gods.” Wheezed the brunette.

Pointing to the Rectoress, she addressed Sabrina, “We need to keep her awake. She’s freezing to death.” The healer strained to hear Tissaia’s shallow breath, to see in the inadequate light the orbs above them provided the beds of her fingernails turning a pale blue, “Her lungs want to start failing her.” Bewitching a thin, small knife into existence, she turned to her lover, “Yen’s boiling, might-start-having-seizures boiling. Her wound is also infected, I have to open it, clean it and hope it takes again to the needle before she bleeds out further.”

“How long, Triss?” Asked the green-eyed woman, swapping their clothing for something practical enough to play nurses with. In her hand the nightgowns they had put on the day before, she threw them somewhere they wouldn’t obstruct their makeshift medical station.

“Three, five hours at most. The portal worsened their condition too much.” Every bit of chaos that a sorcerer channelled had a level of toxicity, just the same as potions and were it not for that they would indeed be immortal but now, now the power that granted them the world had set their bodies to self-destruct.

The healer searched for a cause, holding a freezing hand to aid in the perusing the Rectoress’ mind since at the moment her shields were weak enough to try to manipulate. Triss found she could only explore the outer part of it and even so, she felt an onslaught of power that made her grip the blade so hard the back of her hand started itching, begging for attention. A terrified mumble leaving her lips, “Tissaia’s still channelling Aretuza, therefore so is Yennefer, at some level.”

She gasped, this close to the Arch-mistress she could feel the strength of the castle, all of the Rectoress absolutely reeking with chaos she shouldn’t have to possess. It made her restless and her skin clammy, “Make the best possible scenario two.”

Stepping back, she severed the link, “And Sabrina?” Triss intoned, looking up into eyes as horror-stricken as hers, green eyes with pupils constricting, “Wake her up. Now.” They would overdose on magic alone, at this rate.

But the sorceress didn’t move, thought transference making the information flow through to the blonde, overwhelming her and the brunette shouted at her agitatedly, her tone wavering on the vowels, _“FUCKING MOVE IT!”_ Triss didn’t wait to see if her swearing and raising her voice had prompted her out of her shock, she knew Sabrina would never, in a thousand’s lifetimes, forgive herself for not at least trying.

She cut away every precise stitch that held olive skin together with a firm hand as she could manage, pulling at the thread and letting it fall to the floor carelessly. The brunette didn’t count how many gave away under her blade, instead, she focused her energy on breaking away the next one and so on. More blood coating her hands meant progress.

How Sabrina did it she did not know, couldn’t afford to care but as she reached again for the cloths and the casseroles, emptying the one the blonde had used, the lithe body she had been working on was moved so Yennefer’s back rested in Tissaia’s chest, toned legs on either side of her.

Her frozen hands were pulling black hair out of her lover’s face, “What can I do?” Said the Rectoress.

Instead of promptly answering her, Elder instead fell from her lips, more tools appearing in the edge of the couch. Done with it, Triss monotoned, “Stop calling on the castle.”

The healer inserted the whole of her hands into Yennefer, making her way through the swelled tissue to take out every bit of the thick pus that had settled there. Absentmindedly shushing her sister, who whimpered in distress.

Meticulously, she made sure to not spread the toxins as she continued to cleanse her innards, careful to not touch her organs. Wiping her bow and waiting for more to rise, she made a list of herbs appear on the blonde’s hand, “Raid her stores. Everything, anything she has.”

Dashing for the stairs, Sabrina threw the door to the master bedroom open and began searching, opening every drawer and cabinet on the room, distinguishing if her findings were usable or not by smell alone.

They floated in the air around her as she made her way to the other women, still, deciding on playing it safe, back on the parlour she lined them up besides Tissaia, who nodded at the selection, her findings, with pursed lips.

She was growing colder by the minute, her weak frame occasionally spasming and jerking, for no matter how much the Arch-mistress tried waves of chaos still rolled through her. No other option then, “Imprison my magic. Take my rule over chaos away.”

“You can’t mean that!” Protested the blonde. No. No. _No._ She refused to do it, to even aid the process. Still, the grandfather clock’s constant _‘tick tock’_ didn’t cease, despite her resistance to repeat Sodden.

“I don’t intend to let Yennefer’s sacrifice go to waste.” A fit of drowsiness made her tremble, the sharp angles of her face and what was visible of the rest of her starting to bloat, “Don’t make me surrender my pride, too.” Crystal blue met emerald green, even so, neither relented.

Triss prayed it would work, that it didn’t end up denting their core, as the reversal of such enchantment sometimes did. Sabrina was too stubborn to stop acting dense, though, “We can’t. You can’t.”

“I think you will find-” Her usually nimble hands ripped the necklace from her throat with an alarming amount of clumsiness. Ignoring the red rash the silver had left on her, Tissaia threw the key at Sabrina’s feet, seething, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

The healer stood up, tried to touch her, “Just for a few hours.” And for the first time since they had been teenagers, the blonde turned her away, like she would rather skin herself than concede to this. With her fisted hand against her chest and an aching heart, the brunette faltered, “How?”

Her grip around Yennefer tightened, “Like we’re prisoners of the Chapter or pupils not fit for ascension.” She whispered blankly. The woman buried her fingers on the other’s hipbones and her face in raven hair.

Extending her arm, Triss willed her magic to choke her partner, “Just for a few hours, Breena.” Who looked at her with a mixture all-consuming disdain and acceptance as she tried to fight back, yet the brown-eyed mage knew deep down that the blonde was letting her win. It is always easier to have choices like this taken away, “I am _so_ sorry.” Sabrina collapsed to the floor from the lack of oxygen with an irrelevant _‘thud’._

Applying bandages to Yennefer’s midsection as fast as she could, she sat down in front of them, holding her breath and cleaning her palms on her skirt. Her eyes glazing over, Triss began to chant, _“Quela ateos donne etem,”_

 _“En donne quame e equem,”_ Her face contorted at the hideous sensation of thrill, something wicked pleading with her to absorb and not lock down away such potential. Resisting proved trying but she did it.

So wrong, it was so wrong, doing this to a sorcerer. The brunette had to force the words out, _“Enduche quentin un dunchen.”_

She used to not be able to comprehend how Tissaia was able to do this to generation upon generations of girls. In her training she had once seen her in the aftermath, the Rectoress’ gaze crazed, gravitating away from every quality she was recognized to value and strived to practice. But Triss had also had seen what girls not fit to ascend could do, what those carefully monitored and let go did when they strayed. _Ella_. Now she understood the sacrifices made to keep who you cared about safe. What a burden to wear alone.

 _“Quela ateos donne etem,”_ Tissaia felt the illusion on her face wearing off, the residue of the brew making worse what surely already was a horrid sight. The tissue around their eyes probably looked in a state of necrosis for the other brunette to wince. Oh, yes, the healer must’ve recognised the potion, she knew her quick enough to surmise that this was of the most innocent of things they had done to secure to four Kingdoms, too.

Gods, the lengths they were going to, to fix what the Arch-mistress should’ve seen coming, had had the opportunity to stop early on. Fringilla had never been the same after she had had a taste of glory, a bigger one of humiliation, not from the second after, projecting her hatred like her life depended on it, _“En donne quame e equem,”_ The girl had not changed where she was meant to, in that chair, strapped where her rage could be controlled and repurposed.

She should not have let neither go, replaced them with Ban Ard boys, used her rights as a high-ranking member for once in her life- Then maybe she would not continue to keep failing and asking those who she ought to be protecting, for more, _“Enduche quentin un dunchen.”_

 _“Quela ateos donne etem,”_ Yennefer, who had wanted everything, for what little she had managed to keep in a world that had never stopped defiling her. Triss, who was willing to give it for those she deemed worthy, for blind loyalty that resulted in sullied hands. Sabrina, who was been sensible enough to only take on what she could handle, for what surpassed her.

Rita, who had given her everything already and who Tissaia had let go when what was left wasn’t what was convenient, for forgiveness. Coral, who knew the consequences of enabling her machinations all these centuries, for trust, _“En donne quame e equem,”_

 _“Enduche quentin un dunchen.”_ The Continent was always bound to pay for the mistakes and whims of the wilful and powerful. Oh, she wasn’t the only one to blame but Gods, did it feel like it.

 _“De chao datum est in te, det vobis pacem modo.”_ Tissaia started laughing, she laughed and laughed until her body gave out.

╌

Yennefer came to in a fit of panic, drenched in sweat and panting, instinctively searching the other side of the bed for Tissaia. A lump in her throat when the spot next to her was oddly vacant and cool to the touch, “Shit.” The mage coughed, her throat was impossibly dry.

Groaning and with a blurred vision she moved the covers, one hand on one of the four posters and trying to angle her feet so she could stand, she was only stopped by a familiar voice, “Don’t.”

She turned, cursing under her breath at the stiffness of her neck. Next to the window the Rectoress was sat in her vanity chair, clad in a floor-length nightgown, one leg up and resting her elbow on her knee, her fingers rubbing her eyes, chestnut locks free, stopping a little past her bottom. The Arch-mistress looked vacantly at the garden whilst she sipped on what looked to be tea.

Dropping back onto the mattress and closing her eyes Yennefer sighed in relief, “What Gods-forsaken thing happened now?” Last she remembered was going to sleep after indulging on too much alcohol, much to her partner’s grief. Her mind pleasantly empty.

The brunette didn’t answer her, continuing to enjoy the warm beverage cupped between her hands, not caring that the liquid inside of it scorched her mouth and tastebuds, merely satisfied that it was sufficient to maintain her grounded her enough to not start destroying things.

Fine. One of those moments where she had to pry the information out from Tissaia, then. She expanded her energy, tried to reach what was normally so easily accessible to both of them but magic did not taste the same in her mouth, lead instead of mint, “What the-" The sorceress was trying to not panic and failing spectacularly. _Where was it?_ She felt twisted without its golden warmth. _Where the fuck was the bond?_ “Ugh-” The more she tried to reach it- _No._ “Motherfucker.”

Yennefer couldn’t stop the bile from aggressively and swiftly rising and just as she started heaving whatever remained of the feast in her, out of herself, the Rectoress was by her side, chamber pot in hand, keeping her hair out of the way with her free one, “Indeed.”

The mug that the brunette had been sipping was pushed into her hands as the Arch-mistress got rid of her sick, still, she waited until all of it, including the foul breath, was erased by chaos by sheer force of will, no doubt, to down the contents of the cup. It was no antidote to what was wrong inside of them and for that same reason the raven-haired sorceress guessed that the beverage was done as hideously as possible, the heat erasing the flavour of the leaves, lacking the milk and honey the Rectoress was so fond of, “Tissaia?”

“Your wound got infected, some of the stitches gave out, too.” Despite the lack of chaos around them, in them, she was adept at noticing how anxiety made the brunette’s shoulder blades tighten, “Yennefer you bled out whilst we slept.”

The mattress dipped in the form of her body and Tissaia lay on the bed next to her lover, who looked as exhausted as she felt, “After that I- we- had no choice.” Resting her forehead on her shoulder she pushed the cloth of her chemise up until she could feel the stitches on her stomach against her fingertips.

Covering the two of them completely with the blankets, the violet-eyed woman mapped the features of her face, trying to not dwell on how close they had come to losing everything, again, “Is this what dimetirium feels like?”

Her brow furrowed and the Rectoress remembered being on this same house on very different circumstances, “Not even close.” Pain unlike that she had ever known, knew could exist, only to be surpassed by the ritual. She could recall very little from those weeks that didn’t involve that or the violet-eyed mage.

“Triss lifted the enchantment some time ago.” And even so, solely echoes of magic could they feel, “How long ago, how many hours, days, we’ve been out I’m not sure.” Tissaia had been awake for a while before the younger woman roused and since then her capacity had augmented exponentially but that meant nothing, not really, “Two days might be an accurate assumption.”

Their legs tangled together as was normal in the rare instance where they weren’t being intimate due to sheer fatigue and had no pressing matters to attend to. Gentle fingers caressed her collarbones, “Where’s your necklace?”

Pulling back to look directly at her violet eyes, she narrowed her own and sighed, “Ah.” It had not been her finest moment by far and surely the need for such statement wasn’t needed after all that had been said through mere action, however, in spite of her self-control when the Arch-mistress was cornered she attacked, “I might’ve thrown it at Sabrina when she refused me.” Lilac pools danced with amusement and Tissaia knew her own radiated annoyance just as clearly.

“How did you let me miss that?” She appeared as when they had to spend all their time entertaining those who made them clench their teeth, it was unnerving to see that directed at one of her sisters, then again, it must be because they were so close that the three of them reverted to teenagers when it came to their little triad.

The grin on her face might split her already chapped lips but good Gods what she wouldn’t have given to be there and see Sabrina look as unbelieving as that time the blonde had been stupid enough to hope her sister wouldn’t seek justice, finding it on throwing her down a two-story balcony and stopping her fall just when she was about to hit the grass, “Yennefer.”

“I’m sorry it’s just- She must have looked like you slapped her.” Of course, that only made her smile widen, positively beaming at whatever she was picturing, which, as observant as she could be, might be close to the expression the green-eyed sorceress had worn.

Tissaia didn’t care to remember, she knew that she had hurt Sabrina, she knew that despite her years and her nonchalant attitude the blonde continued to seek her approval as much as the time after their first lesson, “Yennefer.”

“Oh, come on, had it been me and Rita acting like toddlers, you and Coral would’ve immortalised it one way or the other.” That was true, though, the Ice Queen herself admitting it to anyone besides herself would not be accomplished even by her greatest protégé turned soulmate.

Indignantly huffing, she conceded to something that would entertain the younger mage just as much, “My cousin _is_ an overgrown toddler, dear.” The problem that when Margarita wasn’t set on seducing the next moving thing, she could instead be found charming other people into following her schemes no matter how insane they were. A con artist that could become a petulant infant in a minute.

Motioning to her own chest, her fingers twitching with equal parts apprehension and wonder, Yennefer added, “Her tits notwithstanding.” Covering her mouth, she hushed her laughter, ignoring the burning glare of the Arch-mistress.

Truly exasperated presently, the brunette assaulted her pillow repeatedly, hoping it came across as her fluffing the feathers inside it. She churned her nose, “Just because you can’t hold your composure even in the most dreadful moments doesn’t mean I’m like that.”

“Oh, shut it.” Yennefer drawled, pressing her pointer finger to where her forehead creased, “I’ve been here.” Tissaia’s manner dared her to go on and honestly, who was she to refuse what little fun could be found before the war truly took off? So, she chirped, “You let the teachers gamble about your darling girls and take your commission.” And what a sum it was.

The Arch-mistress bit the inside of her cheek, fuming, repositioning her body closer to the taller frame beside her in a futile attempt to seem threatening. She wasn’t about to give up a secret as closely guarded as that one, “You will never, ever tell-”

No one should think their dear Rectoress above abuse of power when she thought it justified, “As if anyone would believe me.” And really, wasn’t that the same reason she hadn’t been thrown in the eel pond? “Well, the make-up sex might be worth it.”

“You are impossible.” Mumbled Tissaia. Mirroring her partner, she pressed her pointer fingers to her lips to stop her from responding, giving her a quick, tired, smile, her eyes crinkled at the corners with affection, she pecked her lips once. And that was that.

Her eyes were growing heavy, her limbs, too, still, her going back to sleep was thwarted when a lock of hair fell on her face and she inhaled. Sneezing, she moved so her back was to Yennefer, waving her hand effusively whilst.

Running her fingers through her chestnut tresses she pressed on her scalp with her blunt nails, content when the older woman hummed, “Gods save the Continent if we had ever managed to have a child. Imagine their temper.” Dutifully, with more care than she used most of the time, she began braiding Tissaia’s hair so they could go back to sleep, “Not that we can even try anyhow.”

A moment of mournful silence passed between them. Their want hardly squandered now that they had cared for a baby, no matter for how brief a time, in fact, it had grown since then. They could just hope the time would come when it wouldn’t be as unbearable anymore, “There’s always adoption.” The Arch-mistress rasped.

“I didn’t spend decades in search of a cure to have the most precious gift of womanhood not be mine.” Tapping her arm to make the brunette aware that she was done and hugging her from behind, her hands crossed over her midsection, the younger sorceress nuzzled into her neck, “You have always known I’m selfish like that.” She wished, not for the first time, that they could be the kind of people that could settle for things such as ‘simple’.

Her hands went over the ones that held her so close, shivering a little and gripping just as tightly, “Only a suggestion.” They had been feverish not long before, drenched in blood. Tissaia adverted her eyes, conscious of what she would see that if she were to look now, “We can only hope the dragon and I were wrong.”

Yennefer let go, propping herself on her elbow, requiring to see for herself that she desired this just as desperately, “Does this mean-?” Part of her would never believe that this was real. Part of her would always go back to wondering when she would be deemed not worthy of this.

And part of her couldn’t believe what she found, what she could see so clearly on blue eyes, a fancy, no, a _necessity_ that rivalled her own, “Yes. After the war.” Boneless, she laid down again, tracing patterns on Tissaia’s belly, “Some Elves are still very close to Rita... We should start there.”

“Thank you.” Extremely sporadically did she say these words and even fewer times did she mean them as much as she did now. Had Yennefer known her very long life would lead to this, she would have paid the price even if it had increased. Despite Coral’s reassurances that things would be alright, only now did she let hope fill her.

“I want it to have your eyes.” Tissaia admitted, nibbling on her lower lip. If there was a time for vulnerably before all façades came back up, well, this one was giving off the impression of being adequate, “That’s the only thing I ask for.”

Laughter like bells, that lesson had certainly taken longer than most for her partner to master, “Let the rest of _her_ be you.” The younger woman’s cackles used to scare the life out of her when the brunette was about to stop the three, sometimes four, impenitent students from doing something that would cause the staff to leave and cost the Chapter money, “We would drive ourselves mad with a boy.”

Grabbing the braid and making sure the ribbon at the end wouldn’t give out, Tissaia pointed out in a small voice, “We’ve already asked for a miracle once.” She wouldn’t trade it for the world but the Arch-mistress couldn’t help asking for more, not when there could be a crib next to the bed they were on. An unladylike snort left her, then, as if they would let their baby out of their bed for the first few months.

“And we deserved it then. We deserve it now.” Gods knew they did, yet, obstinate as They seemed to be it probably wouldn’t be enough to make their case.

“You literally defied Death herself and won.” Maybe Yennefer ought to be the one doing the taking this time, “And I burned the world down for love on an instant.” Maybe wishful thinking would get them somewhere, “We’ll figure something out.” Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I went over Tissaia's clip of her tuning the girls into eels like, I am not kidding, forty times after not being able to find the exact transcription anywhere, since I am not a native speaker -self-taught at that- all I could make out was her saying; "Quela ateos donne etem, en donne quame e equem, enduche quentin un dunchen." Five times, at least. (I have no idea what that means.) What I did find though is that the very end she says, "From the chaos granted onto you, peace I now give you." aka "De chao datum est in te, det vobis pacem modo." in Latin. So, yes, you can see how in such circumstances those last words might drive our dear Rectoress a bit mad. Overall, it was definitely an Experience to write this chapter.


	24. XXIV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Sword fight! sword fight! sword fight! And feels... kinda. :-)

_XXIV._

Only by the grace of a higher being did Sabrina not fall backwards, Rita was embracing her like they hadn’t seen each other in several lifetimes. Her grip too tight against her neck, moonlight hair reeking of herbs and alcohol and only Gods knew what to the point where her nostrils burned and she churned her nose.

The mage could practically hear the Rectoress’ exasperation, the roll of her partner’s eyes, Coral’s resignation and Triss’ amusement. Oh, there was nothing Margarita enjoyed more than getting to annoy her favourite people. Letting go of the green-eyed sorceress, she announced excitedly, “Let me show you to the armoury! The weaponry! The toy-ry!”

It took them a solid candle mark to cross from the main area of the house to where the armoury was but they didn’t mind, with Yennefer catching up with Sabrina and Triss whilst Coral listened to Rita’s incessant ramblings, rolling her eyes every now and then, as did Tissaia when her cousin said something particularly scandalous.

The weapons themselves were behind two massive oak doors and with a flick of the Arch-Mistress’ wrist, they opened without so much as a soft _‘creak’_ thanks to the number of people that the Rectoress had in her employment. For context, the brunette practically owned Tretogor, where the manor was in or in nicer terms, it meant that she was as responsible for the residents as a mayor would be. The people on the cottages a few miles away from the mansion were just the ones that directly worked with and for her in the rare case that she visited and otherwise kept everything running whilst she was trying to keep Kings and Queens from ruining the order of things.

At the back and centred, so it was the first thing you saw upon entry was the five feet tall De Vries crest of arms. The image there depicted a unicorn lying beside a white cat on a purple background, the two looking at each other and the meadow they rested in was filled with scilla flowers. Scripted at the bottom was the saying of House De Vries, created back when such things had been in fashion; _“Audacity and mystique birthed the legendary.”_ Alas, it was way more elaborate than the ones of newly appointed nobles, the details too perfectly crafted, with applied gold accents and even some precious stones sewed onto the canvas.

Their family had seen the first King being crowned, so theirs was not only meant to be seen as a sign of honour but of deference, for the battle that had won the man the throne. The one her ancestors had strategically earned him, for no matter the cruelty that they all possessed in their veins, it had always been accompanied by just as powerful cunning.

All along the wall, there were all kinds of swords with their respective sheaths, and bows with their quivers and arrows next to them, and axes and lances. All of them neatly accommodated by kind and then sorted by age and use, not one of them that wasn’t as deadly as they had been on their prime thanks to chaos.

The room was so large that despite the rows that seemed to go on and on, more still followed; tables with glass covers for the more delicate weapons they possessed, those which were most often carried by the women in the family. Daggers with holsters that attached to your thighs and rings that could be infused with poison and hair combs that if you took the upper part off it revealed a small but deadly blade and finally, necklaces that could hide something small.

The crown jewel of her collection was placed next to the crest, though, six Elven made metal armours, three designed to fit men and the other three designed to fit women. They hadn’t been commissioned, of course, for the Great Cleansing was as its peak back then and the battle was to colonize the land beneath their feet, still, somewhere along the way one of the three original brothers had stolen them in the dead of the night, thus cloaking the other two and all their wives in pride. It was a shame that because of the enchantments they had been forged with they only served as props now.

The need to impose petticoats and gentleness and modesty on women had always existed, nonetheless, the carnage had been enough that mothers fought along with their sons and wives along with their husbands. Too many graves were being dug, filled too quickly and maintaining the supposed supremacy over the fairer sex might have just doomed the human race.

That part of history was something she had found out about in their massive library, in a crumbling journal that revealed the truth to the Viscountess, whose immediate response was to run out to tell her best and only childhood friend, her cousin, even knowing they would be punished if they were caught again mingling around the other.

And so, an ancient practice had been continued thanks to Rita, if in secret. Paid for by Tissaia, whose trips to the family treasury were for years all too frequent until it was time for her to marry.

Turning to the other sorceresses the Arch-mistress proclaimed, “Take whatever it is you desire but leave the sabre atop the family crest. I want you to be well-protected for the battle in Aretuza.”

When Sabrina heard that she was sure she had somehow transcended into another plane of existence, into heaven more specifically. The sorceress started running up and down like a child, ultimately choosing a bow that may be able to pay for an entire ship.

She touched the wood with veneration and testing the string, the blonde almost moaned at the quality of what was being freely given to her. Confused, for Triss was looking pointedly at her with a frown in her pretty face and Yennefer was smirking smugly like when they bested each other. It dawned on her what had happened, then. Oh, Gods, she had actually moaned. Sabrina would _never_ live this down.

Rita wasn’t even trying to be a polite hostess, cackling like a maniac, hugging her stomach and slapping her knee. Coral had her eyes shut and looked like she was trying to manifest the world around her out of existence. Tissaia was pinching her nose, murmuring something under her breath her former pupil definitely did not want to hear.

A blush enveloped Sabrina from her ample chest to the tip of her ears and she took the largest quiver in her closest proximity and started wandering around mindlessly, away from the lot of them, letting her golden tresses hide her face. At least it had been worth it.

Triss had never been able to do much in the physical regard yet being a healer meant that she knew ways to harm with the same herbs she used for medicines and in Sodden she had seen what relying solely on her chaos could lead to. She took a ring for each of her fingers, fully intending on giving them back and placed on her pockets the ones that had already adorned it. If anyone came near her she could just touch them and watch them wither.

Yennefer took nine daggers to go with Tissaia’s rhodium one and four holsters, two of them for her to transfigure, since that was her area of expertise. She tested the weight of them on both of her hands, smiling and deciding these would do nicely.

Trying to ignore the ominous look Coral was fixating on her, the raven-haired woman fixed her gaze on Sabrina, who still was fretting about the lewd noise that had left her mouth. She went to grab the nicest glove in the armoury for her to protect fingers with, something she had neglected taking in her haste to get away from them, keen on offering it as an olive branch of sorts. After how she had helped save them on Rinde for once she had the urge to be nice to her and honestly, seeing the blonde so quiet and reserved, brooding like Geralt might’ve done, was getting on her nerves.

Sorcerers always liked to joke that you still died like a human and the rest of your centuries you roamed around like a reanimated body that had spouts of liveliness. Sadly, it was the truth, but for fuck’s sake they had been given partners that made that a lie... It had to be enough for something.

The mage tapped her sister on the shoulder and placed the leather contraption on her hand, “Just try to not stab me with an arrow this time.” With her usual mirthful gaze back, Sabrina took one from her quiver and tickled her with the feathers at the end in the neck until they were both breathless, “Thanks, Yen.”

Next, she went to Tissaia who was eyeing the sabre on the wall and she grabbed it for her after making sure no one was looking, knowing that her chaos was still spent and short as the mage was the brunette had been just waiting for her lover to notice and help her get it down. It earned her a kiss on her cheek- And naturally, Rita had to scream her lungs off in their ears then, hugging them afterwards and saying to her cousin, “I’m sure I can still beat you if we duel.”

Pressing her lips together and crossing her arms, the Arch-mistress gazed at the rapier sword on her hip, twirling the sabre in her palm teasingly, “What’s in it for me?” She said, pushing Yennefer sideways gently, eyeing her cousin as if they had already agreed on it.

Rita smirked, pleased with the flash of something that had sparked in the woman’s face for a minute, “I’ll give you the doll your dad ‘destroyed’, the pair of the ones your mother had made for us. I kept them pristine. They look like new.” 

When the Arch-mistress sixth name day came, after much prodding from her mother, Tissaia confessed to wanting matching toys with her older sister. The Count had broken Aunt Deeya’s nose for it, yet Margarita had convinced a servant, a friend of her late mother, to spike his drink enough for the fool to forget that he ought to be tearing them to pieces and after stealing them from under his nose, she wrapped them in countless layers of linen, burying them in a metal box near the end of the maze.

“I want proof.” Grinning, Rita conjured hers, giving it to the Rectoress who examined it with awe, running her hands over the porcelain, the childish features she had long forgotten exactly how they looked like. Captivated with the figure of the girl who had grown to be one of the most gifted sorceresses to ever grace the halls of the school that now belonged to her.

She passed it back to her cousin, nodding and moving to the centre of the room, where they wouldn’t disturb the munitions, “No magic. For old’s time’s sake.” The Rectoress directed, sidestepping the blonde, who had already started her onslaught.

Blocking a blow meant to slash her knees, the brunette smiled, looking into her cousin’s eyes with an unspoken challenge in her own and sighing dramatically, Rita acquiesced, “You drive such a hard bargain but I accept, honey.”

The blonde charged for the Marchioness, slashing and barraging in rapid succession, trying to overwhelm her with the length of her blade, her stature and the force behind her blows. Minding her free arm at the same time because she remembered how Tissaia always had a penchant to look for tells there, the two cousins being ambidextrous.

After a while of not being able to find a suitable opening Rita was forced to feign high just as her opponent was trying to wedge her in her ribs, which afforded the blonde a moment on which to twist away.

Triss was clinging to Sabrina so tightly Yennefer guessed the blood flow in her arm would later be compromised and had they not spent decades constantly monitoring their facial expressions, she guessed their mouths would be as wide open as their eyes. Coral promptly pinched each of them, though, “This is not something you want to miss.” The redhead then enhanced her eyesight with magic.

Rita had managed to get close enough that now she was trying to hit the other woman’s wrist with the pommel of her own sword, nevertheless, her advantage didn’t last long, for when she made a wide arc with her arm, she felt the Rectoress ducking under her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and kicking her in the hip with her own pommel as the smaller woman reconsidered her approach, “No fair.”

Tissaia advanced on the blonde, hacking and dodging and mirroring and parrying in a series of fluid motions. Using the environment to her advantage, uncaring that it could backfire and thanking the Gods when it didn’t as she lured the blonde out far enough that the Rectoress wasn’t the only one she had to mind, wary of the variety of weapons so close to them.

The two cousins were moving with an expertise none of the mages had witnessed whilst in court. The deadliest of dances which they somehow had managed to turn into a form of art.

In an attempt to distract her, the blonde taunted, “You’ve gotten much better. Remember when you couldn’t hope to last against me?”

“Dear, you’re the one that gets threatened wherever you go. I’m the one that has to fight off assassins much too often at home.” Replied the brunette, unphased.

Face to face with their weapons in a cross between them, the Arch-mistress allowed herself a split second to examine Rita; her cousin would still be very much able to continue this for a while but she could feel herself tiring and lately, she’d had enough wounds to last her a few decades.

Gritting her teeth, the smaller sorceress clashed her forehead against the other’s nose with as much force as she could muster, using the momentum of it to kick Margarita on her stomach with the heel of her boot, throwing her to the floor. She pounced on the blonde, faster than lightning, each of her legs pinning one of her arms, effectively incapacitating her. Panting, Tissaia pressed the blade to her throat and said, “Nobody smart plays fair.”

╶

He was seeing in his mind’s eye all the ways this could go wrong, as Miss Rita flexed her muscles and swirled a battle axe around. The man sighed, putting down the tray with the biscuits and the tea on the table, knowing he would have to call for backup. _“At least with so many sorcerers available the fires are easy to repair.”_ Henselt thought bitterly to himself, paling when his words reached his Mistress’ ears. Gods, the butler had forgotten they could read minds.

Marchioness De Vries turned to address him, her lips pursed, two sets of icy blue eyes trained on his from and he shifted on his feet, averting his gaze to the door. He was going to pay for this later, he knew, even if the Marchioness was staying for a few days her cousin wouldn’t forget about his slip of tongue, “What fires?”

Her voice had come out too low and the butler began to think he might have set off a snowball that would crush them whole, “Well, my Lady, you see-”

“Grow some ball for fuck’s sake. Tiss, darling, we’ve always shared a passion for potion making but you know I haven’t got the same talent in that field as you.” The blonde explained nonchalantly, inspecting her manicured nails with little interest, her trained gaze gauging her reaction through narrowed eyes.

Rita was appealing to her cousin’s inquisitive and scholar-like nature, which had worked fine for her one too many times. Tissaia was more tolerant with people when it came mistakes born from doing research and frankly, she wasn’t above using that to cover her tracks, “I think you understand better than anyone how things too often go wrong even if I’m being cautious.”

When in doubt, a sorceress must always rely on her manipulation skills.

“That’s not usually why they-” With chaos she tried to shut Henselt up, stealing his voice and standing there with her arms crossed as if she was doing nothing wrong.

Could the Chapter convince King Vizimir to drop manslaughter charges? She wondered. If he continued being as stupid the blonde would run out of her practically non-existent patience and do something drastic.

“The one that happened after the students arrived-” What a devoted little thing he was. What an annoying little pest he was. But he was beloved by the rest of the staff and there was only so many people she could fight off at once, they’d probably just injure her severely, her ties to the Arch-mistress protecting her.

Rita had never been a very skilled healer and the ointment for removing scars was getting only costlier by the year and trying to ransack Tissaia’s office or her chambers was a fool’s errand, warded as they were.

The man was beginning to give up when a commanding voice cut through the silence, “Leave him alone.” She did as she was told, remembering the black mist and the storm. They were both bonded with the castle now but the challenging look Yennefer sported told her it was in her best interest not to risk it and she knew first hand better than to outright challenge her authority in their ancestral home in front of her attendants, even if she did enjoy teasing the brunette when they were in confidence.

“As I was saying, the girls lit the entirety of the ballroom on fire.” Tissaia raised her eyebrow, disbelieving of the most trusted member of her staff for the first time in her life since the majority of the girls currently inhabiting the manor were of noble background, “Due to their _compromised_ state, of course.” He clarified and she nodded. Yes, that made sense, it was certainly not the first time it had happened, thanks to Yennefer.

“Miss Rita tried to create an army of otters for some unknown reason and it backfired.” It had been as terrifying as it had been amusing, still when the staff saw the flames, they honestly thought the whole wing might be lost. However, Aretuza’s teachers proved themselves faster and more capable than the bedlam around them, Miss Keira shouting commands and dousing the flames whilst her colleagues made sure no one got trapped inside.

Thankfully, those furry animals were native to Redania, which made caring for them an easier task, else, he would have had to explain to his Mistress why instead of making beds they were preparing to change the flowers on the new additions to the manor’s cemetery, “Even so, the little Misses turned back to humans in two days. The fountain was heaven sent in the meantime.”

A flurry blasted open the door and Coral grabbed Arch-mistress De Vries by the arm, the cold of her skin seeping through her gloves, chilling her fingers, “An army of… _otters._ ” She spat, the marble beneath them turning slippery, as ice began to coat it, the frost expanding past the room where they were in, covering the weapons and the walls.

They could see that Tissaia’s was barely holding herself back and the sorceresses, except for Yennefer and Coral, began to brace for impact, “You’re five hundred years old. Five- _hundred-_ years- old.” It was a hiss, her voice wielded like a knife, no longer a reprimand but a threat, one she was willing to act upon.

The Rectoress walked towards Rita, with spiderwebs of black around her eyes, the remnants of the potion her lover had forced on her starting to show, making her look like a picture from a storybook, like a madwoman, like a nightmare become flesh, “If the Chapter gets wind of this…” She sounded like one too.

Slowly backing down and coming to hide behind one of the displays of daggers, the blonde held onto her skirts for dear life, eyeing all the exits from where she could escape which was only the door. Henselt, the little shit, was standing in the middle of it. Gods, she shouldn’t have made as many enemies within her own home, “In the midst of a war where the support we so painstakingly got from the Kingdoms can switch on a whim if the court presses hard enough.”

About to retort that it probably hadn’t been anything more than a reprieve for them to mingle with fellow snobs the errant shaking of Triss and Sabrina’s heads from side to side insinuated that saying that would be signing her death sentence.

At least Tissaia needed her complete for the battle, she suspected the brunette would else be ensuring one of her limbs came off, “Jag är trött på din _oavströtta_ apati, Margarita.”

Rita was so fucked, “Din narcissistiska, infantila, dare.” She started praying, honest to the Gods praying that her nearly immortal existence wouldn’t end today.

Sabrina and Triss were holding Yennefer back, trying to calm her as the waves of the Rectoress’ anger flowed through to her. They were still recuperating and knowing just a small portion of what they had gone through they feared Rita was pushing them to where they wouldn’t be able to reach either, “Uttrar. Du förvandlade mina elever till gudsförgätna uttrar. Och nästan brände ner balsalen med dem inuti.”

Tightening her grip on her sister, Sabrina whispered to Coral, “What the fuck is she saying?” The medium merely shrugged, sitting on a newly conjured chair and nibbling on some of the biscuits.

She bared her teeth, incensed but little did she know that the redhead was already aware of the outcome, of the futility of trying to reason with them.

The blonde repeated to herself that all would be alright because the bloody bitch was having a tea party whilst they were waiting to see if the brunette and her partner would really try to murder the former’s cousin and if they’d have to stop them.

“If my memory serves me right, my grandfather told me that the common tongue was only accepted by Redanians as of three hundred years ago.” Commented Henselt, one foot inside the room and the other one outside, his face as white a parchment as he debated with himself whether call the fellow mages here to contain whatever was brewing in the air.

“Thank you, Henselt.” Said Triss, her arms around Yennefer’s stomach since merely grabbing her by the arm wasn’t enough anymore.

Pushing past the barriers in Rita’s mind, wrecking them in the process and making the mage whimper, the Rectoress sorted through her memories and thoughts, only interested in how the girls had reacted after being turned back to human, with most of them rightfully pissed and a few who actually wanted to be changed back, claiming life was easier like that… Then she arrived at her cousin mailing their letters herself without checking the contents inside and she lost it _._

Slamming her hands down on the display, it shattered and many shards embedded themselves on the still tender skin of her palms and she pressed her fists closed, not minding the blood that came from the many tiny cuts, _"Din skumma jävla skitstövel!”_

Yelping, Margarita ran for the door, pushing Tissaia in the process and accidentally launching her into one of the suits of armour, which collapsed over her, making a deep gash on her forehead and rendering her unconscious.

She would come to learn she had never made a mistake as grand as that one.

Yennefer’s eyes turned pitch black, as they had done with the potion and smoke began to roll down her figure. With one hand extended, she stopped the Rita mid-stride. Her consciousness and all her empathy tucked away not by her own volition.

Coral stood up then, looking at the girls and trying to block their way to the raven-haired woman, nevertheless, the younger mages trailed after her, ignoring the redhead, “Yenna, please don’t.” Squealed Triss, tugging at the sleeve of her dress, only for the hand she was trying to grab to be pulled out of her reach.

Sabrina grabbed her by the shoulder, retracting her hand when it burned, clutching it against her chest as she pleaded for once in her life, “Yen, this isn’t you.” She looked at her and Yennefer grinned.

Then Margarita’s knees failed her in keeping her standing and she fell on her knees, gasping for air. The blonde and the brunette tried to call on their chaos to no avail, their lifeblood no longer answered to them.

This was Yennefer’s distortion.

It didn’t deter the sisters, whom the redhead stopped with a heavy, grim look, “None of us will get through to her. We’ll only get hurt. Let focus on getting the one person who can bring her back to wake up.”

They rushed to her side, picking apart the metal until Tissaia was no longer crushed by it. Triss mumbled in Elder, closing the skin of The Rectoress’ hands and the one on her face as fast as she could, careful to not mess up anything further, letting out a relieved breath when the spells worked as they should.

Kneeling in front of the woman and taking her chin between her forefinger and thumb, Yennefer began, her voice dripping with venom, a snake ready to strike at the slightest provocation, “I came from a pig pen as a hunchback, a child of spoiled roots, as disgraced as if I had been born a bastard.”

Sabrina massaged her limbs frantically, trying to get the blood to flow through them again properly, her body stubborn because of the ordeal in Rinde. Yet, the stiffness and the cold in them slowly yielded to her great relief.

“Sweet child you weren’t meant for grace… Once, you might’ve been, but you drank too much, got high enough to be able to fly better than the seagulls outside, blamed it on the one person who never denied you her aid in your direst moments and I understand that, I walked the same path.” Her olive hand went to the column of her throat, squeezing, leaving an angry burn mark.

Coral was dealing with the concussion on her head, easing the tension and the pain out of the muscles, the swelling in her brain was advancing too quickly, so, all her power was directed towards soothing her brain matter so it didn’t get to strain against her skull.

“Still, never did I leech off my sisters.” Crimson leaked down Rita’s nose and her mouth, bruises forming through all of her body and she could hear Triss trying to muffle her horror, to ignore what was happening around them.

They had always known Yennefer to be capable of things like this, deep down, however much they had tried to deny it, “If you ever endanger Tissaia and all her hard work, or hurt her again, I will rain hell on the Brotherhood of the likes of which they have never seen before, so the Chapter knows they have no choice but to outvote the Rectoress and force you into exile.”

Blue eyes snapped open and they helped her get up as the raven-haired sorceress lost herself a little more. Yennefer added, “And that I swear to you.” Rita let out a terrible scream then, the pain so intense tears leaked from her eyes.

“THAT IS _ENOUGH!”_ Hollered Tissaia, running between her lover and her sister, crouching next to her cousin and holding her shivering frame against her. A clear statement that if she wanted to further assault her she’d have to do so to her too.

“IT IS _NOT!”_ Yelled Yennefer, the sclera’s of her eyes still completely black, yet the twitching movements in her face told that she was fighting to regain control of her body.

She rose slowly, her arms in front of her as to not aggravate her further, taking small steps until she could smell her perfume, “My love.” The Arch-mistress began, her tone unbelievably tender because she understood, she remembered being pulled back from It too, “Yennefer.”

Tentatively, the brunette rested her forehead against hers, _“Please.”_ Cupping her cheeks as the violet colour that had bewitched and ensnared her heart started coming back. Shushing the girl when she started hyperventilating, horrified at what she had done.

Not turning to look at any of them, Tissaia concluded, “Sabrina, Triss, Coral, we’ll meet you for meals the rest of the week.” Closing her eyes, she muttered, “Rita, for once in your life, heed my advice and stay out of our way.”

Tissaia led Yennefer out by the hand, her doll dangling from the other and outside they stepped through a portal made by Coral to the master bedroom.

When the silence was too much, Henselt stepped in, his head bowed low, his cheeks hot with shame, "Lady Rita, I beg your forgiveness though I do not deserve it and offer you my resignation should you so desire it. I will alert Professor Assire so she may see to your injuries.” His whole body was shaking and his eyes were wet because of what he had indirectly caused, "In the meantime I will make sure the Marchionesses are tended to, Miss Neyd." And then the door closed without a soun

_“Marchionesses?”_

_“What’s up with that?”_

_“From what I’ve heard Yennefer means to take the De Vries name and the staff already think she did.”_

_“Ah.”_

_“How romantic.”_

They were on their way out when the blonde’s hoarse voice sounded, “Where are you all going?” Sabrina and Triss conjured up more chairs, already going to sit when Coral dissolved them into thin air.

“No, girls.” The redhead said, her grey eyes with a harshness on them that wasn’t normal and they allowed themselves to see it, how she was as angry as the Marchioness had been and how she had spent the whole time concealing it for their sakes, “Margarita I love you and Tissaia does too and you know it, she wouldn’t have shielded you otherwise.”

“The shapeshifting may have made her furious, but you sent the student’s letters even when I told you what the consequences might be for the Continent... Thank the Gods Sheala stopped them before they reached anyone.” On the floor Rita bit her bottom lip, cleaning her face with the sleeves of her dress, “You betrayed her.”

“She did _what?!”_ Hissed Sabrina, pointing her finger at the other blonde, opening and closing her mouth many times, aware that she would regret voicing her thoughts at the moment.

Triss rubbed her eyes with one hand and the nape of her neck with the other, turning away to stare at the De Vries crest with hollow eyes before lamenting, “No wonder Tissaia wasn’t even speaking normally.”

“This time I can’t stay behind and tell you she’ll get over it in a few days, reassure you that it was just harmless fun even if I’m lying.” Coral said, turning to the girls.

Rita curled into a ball in the floor, making herself small as she had seldom done in her very long life, “Come, children. The gardens are truly beautiful this time of the year.” And then the door closed without a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aunthor's note: Tissaia is speaking Swedish (MyAnna's native tongue) and here are the translations;
> 
> “Jag är trött på din oavströtta apati, Margarita.” - “I’m tired of your unending apathy, Margarita.”  
> “Din narcissistiska, infantila, dare.” - “You narcissistic, infantile, fool.”  
> “Uttrar. Du förvandlade mina elever till gudsförgätna uttrar. Och nästan brände ner balsalen med dem inuti.” - “Otters. You turned my students into Gods-forsaken otters. And almost burned down the ballroom with them inside."  
> "Din skumma jävla skitstövel!” - “You dodgy fucking asshole!"
> 
> Hope. My God, I live on it... Nah, I live on hyperfixations turned obsessions. And crips. And chocolate. And memes, oh yes, shitposts are what I substituted nicone with. Also, MILFs, because The Gay will get you EVERYWHERE.


	25. XXV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Enter Philippa.

_XXV._

In front of them were the watercrafts that connected the isle of Thanned to the mainland. Time had finally run out. And Tissaia would like to be able to say that she didn’t feel anxious enough to have the skies drop enough snow to turn the Continent into a frozen wasteland.

The powerful cowered before the uncertain, this she was not an exception of. Especially after the massacre of Sodden Hill, especially after seeing with her two eyes, the dead come back to life. There was no indubitability but that the battle would require everything the Brotherhood, the Chapter and the Kingdoms had left to give. _More._

She stepped forwards into one of the many boats, invisible oars automatically propelling them towards Aretuza, the Rectoress’ and Yennefer’s home, the castle that might be nothing but bits of stone in a few days’ time, with many more ghosts to accompany the ones that were already awaiting them inside.

 _Deep breaths._ Her hands laced against her womb and her chin high, she severed herself from feeling, from humanity. _Control._ Tissaia’s blue orbs regained the manner of the woman she was known as, a skin she had shredded in the battlefield, confronted by so many things at once. She needed it now more than ever.

When they descended at the shipyard the Arch-mistress extended her arm, for the mage sensed a familiar magical signature hovering above them and on her forearm a Blakiston's fish owl gracefully landed, poking at her feathers without so much as _‘hooting’_ a ‘ _Thank you.’_ at the Arch-mistress.

Almost at the gates, the sorceress shifted back to her human form. Her black tresses in two, three-strand gathered plaits. Her cobalt blue dress a sleeveless one-piece that left little to the imagination, with a high neck and twin thigh slits that stopped three fingers above her pelvis and a golden belt in her waist that fastened with a massive buckle in the form of a mourning dove. Finishing off the outfit were a pair of tremendously high-heeled, leather ankle boots, to add to her height, which was normally almost equal to the Rectoress’ own.

A frock to rival any of Rita’s ensembles and better yet, transform every sorceress around her into a possible Sister of Melitele’s, a faithful of Ellander’s temple in the eyes of strangers, if they were to be compared.

Smirking, she bowed, not curtsied, to the backbone of the Chapter and purred, “Tissaia De Vries, it’s been far too long.” Phillipa had always been one of her most rebellious charges and unlike Yennefer the brunette had never been able to tame the chaos boiling inside her by any means.

_“I heard that.”_

_“I’m sure you did.”_

“Why are you here now, Phillipa?” Said Tissaia with all the authority befitting her status, refusing to drop the wards until the mage proved she was here to see the end of Nilfgaard and not to fulfil one of the many plots and schemes she always had going on.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she grinned, fixing her amber eyes, a colour that at a distance could be confused with a witcher’s, on the other raven-haired sorceress, who was trying to figure out what was her ploy, “My, my, straight to the point for once. It seems my little birds are right; how has my fellow _witch_ from Vengerberg rubbed down on you. Or ‘mayhaps over you.”

Yennefer almost slapped her, settling for clenching her fists where yellow was starting to stain her fingertips and gritting her teeth as her lover remained impassive. Still, Tissaia knew the mage. Her former pupil was like a bloodhound in her assessments and as dangerous as a snake, it was best to treat her like so, even now she must be looking for weaknesses to exploit.

Then the woman cooed, “Don’t worry, pet, it’s _my_ pleasure.” Cocking her head to the side, like the owl she was, she continued, “Philippa Eilhart. Spymaster, currently the only polymorphist alive, several generations your elder… and the best student to walk these halls before you came along.”

“Also, one of the many sorcerers that actively tried to bed the Arch-mistress.” She muttered in a sing-song voice, honey-sweet and alluring. Phillipa stared at the skin of her arms with unrepentant interest, the colour that had started in her fingers now reaching the middle of her forearms, like holding skin too closely to the candlelight, “Anyways, you bested me where it matters most, sweetheart.”

Circling her younger sister, the sorceress chirped, “Don’t worry I’m not suicidal. Going against _her?”_ She scoffed. As _if_ she was going to waste her extremely valuable life on a lost cause, “Even I know better than to fight the Ice Queen.”

“See her eyes? They’re like hollow pits, Tissaia’s are much too _alive_ , compared to this. An important detail I once noticed.” Yennefer turned to her, confirming the change. Indeed, those were not the blue she had grown used to. Greyer. Shaper. Not that she couldn’t recognize the alteration from the bond alone. Where she as reckless as before she would’ve shown Philippa just how _intimately_ she knew the difference.

“Do you girls know why they nicknamed her so? Well, maybe I’ll tell you on when the weather is fairer.” Her face was mock-sombre as she teased the three of them with the knowledge, turning back into her maniac persona in a second. Like taking sweets from children, from the two that perked up just slightly, really.

Sabrina’s indifferent mask cracked a tad as she turned to a frown at the spymaster, who grabbed a tan chin between her thumb and forefinger, her partner glancing at her like a starstruck child, “Ah, what an honour, our beautiful flower, _Triss._ ” She followed by taking her hand in hers and turning it, kissing the inside of her wrist like a gallant and particularly bold knight.

The look on her face became borderline predatory when Phillipa didn’t stop there, pecking the corner of her lip and doing the same to the other side- She did _not_ just- This harlot was going to be siren food when the blonde was done with her. Looking at Yennefer, who nodded Sabrina’s way, her drawing hand summoned one of her daggers to her, “Ah. _Nope._ I’m not committing adultery if this bitch is involved.” The amber-eyed woman chuckled, stepping back.

Tissaia resisted the urge to tap her foot against the grass and pinch her nose, “Margarita? Coral?” They shook their heads no, making her pout. The spymaster crossed her arms against her chest so that they brought her breasts up, turning her head towards the sea for dramatic effect as she started fake crying like a mourning widow.

All the prettiest, most interesting women on the Continent were taken. This was naught but Divine punishment for the ancient temple Philippa had ransacked a week ago, “It seems Destiny has seen to it that I might die a woman unfulfilled.” The sacrifices she made for the greater good were too many and too costly.

“If you’re done with that, do answer me. I grow tired of your antics.” That made her snap out of it immediately.

“Of course.” Her hands were clasped against her back once again, the drops leaking from her eyes ceasing, all humour fading from her posture, from the way she carried herself.

The redhead noted she looked more a General than Vilgefortz had ever announced himself to be, more so than Cahir. Certainly, a blessedly more effective one than either from the visions swimming in her mind, “I neglected my duties at Sodden because going to battle uninformed is unwise, it makes for too many liabilities.”

“What I did do afterwards is I tracked Ehmyr and Fringilla as much as I could, none of them the wiser thanks to my foresight to make myself invisible where it counts.” Nilfgaard’s mage in chief was not relying as heavily on the forbidden arts, instead building up her strength, reserving her chaos, as she could tell the women in front of her had been doing for days.

“Whilst also masking my agents as miracle children.” Smart and sneaky, was what Phillipa had heard she was before she had fully embraced the corruption. Prepared, too. The Elves had seen to it. After Fringilla lost Sodden, though? Add impatient and deranged. After she lost Redania? A little delusional and very much unhinged and even so, it was still too close to a fair fight for her liking and comfort.

“Feigning conduit moments is simple when I’m trying to fool someone who hasn’t got centuries of practice on her.” It was not the way she operated, playing all her cards at once but the lunar eclipse had given her no choice, “Some converted to the White Flame nonsense but they were promptly taken care of and her little stunt in Redania gave me the opportunity I needed to get them back. All of Ban Ard was lost to us by then.” She bowed her head, straightening her shoulders almost to the point of pain.

“I am here today not because of a misguided sense of loyalty to the Brotherhood, but as my mentor, taking me from that shithole, you taught me what freedom and power are like, Tissaia.” She should be masking at least some of the honesty with lies, yet there was a newfound darkness to the Rectoress she didn’t feel like testing, “Those are things which the North and until recently the South, under your direction and command gladly offered me and I find myself unwilling to surrender those privileges to a child with wet dreams about becoming a tyrant.”

Tissaia’s lips pursed into nothingness. Phillipa’s help was not a thing to be taken for granted, the sorceress rarely offered it for free, much less covered such extent of things. She would take whatever advantage was concealed in it. The Arch-mistress just needed to make sure, “Let me see you.”

“Oh, I never knew you to be so forward, Rectoress.” Walking towards the mage and swaying her hips, she eagerly stretched her hand, “Here.” The Arch-mistress’ presence had never been invasive, subtle enough that it had taken her two decades to actually feel it, the better part of half a century to properly block it. The only way was for Phillipa to willingly surrender, now. So tight were the strings she had woven around her thoughts and the gathered knowledge she possessed.

“She speaks the truth.” Tissaia deadpanned, beginning to drop the barriers and alerting the others members of what was happening, “There is much the Chapter and the Council need to discuss before we address the Brotherhood as a whole.”

-

Vilgefortz was passed out in his chair, bound with freshly made dimetirium cuffs for good measure too. She was glad they already knew that he had sold himself for an empty promise and some trinkets that were useless in the presence of someone who had not the slightest capacity to use them.

Whilst Tissaia had stayed as far as she could from the contraptions, even forgoing her usual seat and trading it for the one next to the door, the other high-ranking members had all, albeit cautiously, inspected them. The men from the council dictated much too quickly at their enchanted quills until there were rows of parchment that reached the floor, meanwhile the remaining three from the Chapter used the traitor as a training dummy to see just how much those things could negate, which was everything.

Mercifully, when they finally tired of their new toy and the scent of charred flesh grew too uncomfortable, they took their seats. Phillipa drank from her glass and turned to address Stregobor, “I see your unwise attempt to thwart Lilith’s prophecy still has the Brotherhood eating scraps.” Leaning forward, she continued, “Which might still come to pass, for all we know, since if you recall-” The mage stopped herself. Not the time for it.

 _“Anyways,_ very lousy work you did with the rouge Princess and your experiments on her. All of the girls really.” The absolute mess he had left behind _every-sodding-time_ on their corpses required her aid and it was because of her that they weren’t being burnt at the stake. What he did to the Princesses’ bodies made them look like savages.

“Gods. Even this Rector would have caned you. Radmir on the other hand-” The shadows thickening around her didn’t bother her as she imagined he had hoped, “Wouldn’t have been so lenient.” How the man had studied under such a prodigious Arch-master and still come out the wrong way of the metaphorical womb was beside her. Most of the members of the Council were sensible enough to agree with her from the looks of it, at least, “You’re no fun. No fun at all.” Another glance and he remained seated, just murmuring under his breath.

Crossing his legs, he finally spat, “What have you to say that requires us all to endure your presence, _girl?_ ” Turning to the Rectoress, he glared at her and the brunette just raised an eyebrow, daring him to dismiss Phillipa. The minutes passed. Stregobor didn’t. He wasn’t as thick.

The cuffs sucked nearly all the chaos around them, making them restless and she didn’t know if they’d be able to manage the true monstrosity of what she had encountered. So very worse than simple restraints. Demurely, her hands went to her lap, “Where to begin?”

“With what we can’t afford to tell the Brotherhood until the last moment, I’d wager.” Offered Artorious kindly, knowing his haunted expression would only worsen with the first-hand knowledge of the things he was partially responsible of.

╌

Tissaia’s chambers were a mess, well, as much as she would allow. The seven of them were getting ready for the ball that the Chapter and the Council were having as damage control for the bleakness that had permeated the air during and after the meeting had on the day they had arrived.

The youngest three in the room acted too friendly with each other, comparing jewels, pushing around whoever was hoarding the most space of her mirror. It really wasn’t a surprise, as one of her best students Phillipa had yet to meet a man or a woman that didn’t end up giving in to her charms.

The brunette was looking through her extensive wardrobe when the spymaster broke away from the group and came to stand beside her, looking at the garment she had chosen like it was a rag, her frown only worsening as she inspected Sabrina’s and then Yennefer’s, “Gods. Leave it to the ones that ought to know how to impress to dress in _that_.”

She rubbed her hands together and grinned, clapping thrice. And just like so she had brought to life a gown far more detailed and majestic than anyone had ever seen Giltine conjure.

Rita’s dress would be the first of many pieces of art.

The fabric of the layered, A-line skirt was of weightless organza, which varied in colour from the deepest blue one could find to grey and even plum, mock diamonds sprawled all throughout the fabric. Her skirts clouds of night and penumbra.

The upper part was practically non-existent, a thin fabric that was like a second skin, the same colour of it too, with beads that started from her wrist and mimicked the lines and design of her tattoo, covering her upper body like the Elves had bothered to draw the whole expanse of it.

Moonlight hair rested in waves of her back, the upper half of it braided from the sides to the back of her head into intricate things, the hair that was leftover from the tresses fastened into a rose. Her eyes outlined by an eyeshadow that shifted from teal to periwinkle depending on the light.

Like she had seen silly princesses do, Rita giggled prettily, “Can we keep her, Tiss? _Please?”_ She begged her cousin.

Tissaia’s was about to answer her when she felt the coolness of Phillipa’s magic cloak her.

Hers was much simpler but equally regal.

Made from georgette of rich garnet red and as soft to the touch as a swan’s feather, it sported a V-line that showed a decent amount of her décolleté, the bodice arranged so that the left side overlapped over the right one.

Coming to stop in her midsection and cutting the upper part to give way to a straight skirt. All of the attire carefully gathered every few centimetres, billowing around her with the slightest movement.

Thought to accommodate the reserved nature of the Rectoress the amber-eyed sorceress had added as a final detail a band that circled her neck, a piece from which a cape hung, covering her shoulders, with a train just long enough to satisfy her well-hidden fondness of the theatrics too.

Finally, her hair was in one of her typical chignons, her hair parted at the middle and braided and twisted all the way into the bun, which’s volume was much higher than usual, two chestnut locks framing her face and downsized dahlias tucked all over the updo.

It was really no wonder that Phillipa had heard that no fairer creatures than the two De Vries cousins had existed in their time. At five hundred years old Margarita and Tissaia still looked like Goddesses, especially tonight.

Righting her pendant, the Arch-mistress acquiesced, “We just might.”

Yennefer was laying in the edge of her bed and raising an eyebrow she stated, “I only do black, put me in actual colour and the plan is off.”

Dashing across the room to cover her sister’s mouth, Sabrina smiled and said through clenched teeth, “She’s just joking, this is the chance of a lifetime and even she isn’t bitter enough to stop it.” Hopefully getting laid as constantly as she was she wouldn’t fuck it up for the sake of being a jealous bitch.

The blonde returned the glare directed at her but let go of her mouth when the raven-haired woman’s tongue licked it, at which point she went back to Triss, gagging like a child. The healer took a piece of cloth from the vanity, cleaning the skin that had the saliva on it with reluctance.

“Alright.” Philippa sat on the floor, spelling ideas for the remaining gowns into a large piece of parchment, furrowing her brow ever so slightly as she tried to come up for with something for Yennefer.

Tissaia prodded the bond but the waters were too deep for her to get through, “What exactly is this plan of yours?” She sighed, a twitch on her eye that was gone too fast.

“Nothing.” The four younger mages said in unison and just when she was about to force the information out of someone Rita took her by the hand and dragged her to the bathroom, locking the door behind them.

Unceremoniously pushing her down on a stool she kept there for when she felt like hiding from the world somewhere even more claustrophobic than her chambers, “She let your face bare and that won’t do, we’re not two hundred anymore.” Commented her cousin.

“You know.” She accused, still, Tissaia let her apply pigment to her eyes with a brush, her hand considerably steadier than the last time they had been this close. 

Rita merely _‘tsked’_ , “Your girls are much too young to be sufficiently sly when it comes to mischief, even Phillipa. Contrary to popular belief blondes aren’t dumb, though you would know better than I if you had kept your hair as it was.”

“I didn’t want-” She started, looking down at her lap as the other mage patted lightly her eyelid, putting the tool back in its place. Crouching and ransacking the drawer to search for more cosmetics, she muttered, “Anything to do with them. I know.” Placing the ones she did find on the edge of the mahogany, she traced the corners of Tissaia’s mouth, “There’s an alarming lack of smile lines here.”

The Arch-mistress searched the chaos circling her, finding none of the aberrations that intoxication brought, could it really be that she was for once completely sober?

Tapping the brush with the coral powder against her finger to dust off the excess, she heard the brunette’s tone turn timid, “Rita-”

The blonde interrupted her, “Don’t. One day, you and I will apologize for everything we’ve done so very wrong, for how we’ve fucked the other over since that night.” Her eyes softened, “But in the meantime, I don’t need you to be Tiss, I need you to be the immovable Rectoress, the invincible member of the Chapter because I am terrified of losing any of this, any of you.” Rita pressed a kiss to her temple, “I need you to do what you do best, fool me into believing everything is going to be fine, as you often did when we were little.”

-

Every sorcerer responded to the upcoming battle in different ways; some drank away their dread, some found a willing partner to fuck the dread away with and some just basked in it, deeply engrossed in philosophical debates with themselves.

No different from mortals, really, they were just dressed up for it, stuck in the great hall until they found a way to escape without anyone caring or they ceased to give a shit where they had their meltdowns in since the news from the meeting had been so dire. Whichever came first.

Sabrina was having too much fun with it, sadistic little twat that she was. That didn’t mean Yennefer disapproved, oh no, quite the contrary, she had helped her sister drug the drinks of people they particularly disliked, Stregobor first on the list, naturally, all throughout the night.

It had been, oh so easy, to enthral anyone when Phillipa had joined them in on the plan. She really liked her, flirting with Tissaia and Triss aside.

Triss, Gods sent Triss had not batted an eye, cornering them before the gala started and telling them they were free to terrorize everyone so long as that included the seven of them. So, when Tissaia procured a rather nasty looking thing for her to drop on Vilgefortz’s drink as he ogled her, Coral had lost yet another bet to Margarita.

Currently, he was making a fool of himself by re-enacting one of his first fights as a ‘true warrior’; the spoon for the pouch serving as his sword and the mantle of a brutalized table his armour. Someone in the crowd around him actually had conjured an easel and oil paints to immortalize his embarrassment. Phillipa would probably buy it in the end, put it up in her new chambers as Redania’s new sorceress, _“I had forgotten how much I miss my games.”_ She had told her earlier.

Yennefer, leaning back against the wall, nursed her goblet of wine, the finest and the rarest Aretuza had to provide and continued to observe the party from the side-lines. Picking at the edges of her tulle skirt and rearranging the velvet belt so it was properly angled, every now and then.

The polymorphist, she was loath to admit, had done a phenomenal job of dressing them for this shitshow. Apart from her lovely, yes, lovely skirt, her bodice was had a plunging neckline which’s outline was made of lace in the form of lilacs, wide enough to cover just her nipples. (They might be reserving their chaos, yes, but it wouldn’t do for anyone, especially the spymaster to know that they were branded.) The flowers also running down from her shoulders to her wrist, the rest of the bodice a net of thick thread.

Her hair, as usual, was in loose if somewhat tight waves that rested on her back, unadorned save from the few pins in the shape of stars that sat on the crown of her head to compliment the obsidian star that adorned her neck. 

Half of her face obscured by her beverage, her eyes were now to passer-by’s the main attraction, besides her cleavage. Gone was her usual emerald eyeshadow, black carefully speckled on her eyelids atop a thin line of kohl, all of it which blended with the silver on her under eyes.

Sensing movement around her, she spared a glance at the vision intent on joining her, moving and making space for sorceress Laux-Antille, “I love her. I hate her.” Confessed Rita.

The mage was no longer accustomed to the grandiosity of the institution to which she belonged to, having so willingly traded it for as much freedom as a sorceress could have. For bonfires and breeches, for grass tickling her skin, for sand getting in her sandaled feet and spinning around like a child until solid ground was but a fleeting memory, “I don’t think I can tell the difference most of the time.”

Finally turning to look at her, Yennefer found unguarded eyes. She could see, no, _feel,_ how their past had never stopped haunting them. How they would never stop, all of the things they left behind. How it had almost severed their connection, turning into a decaying thing.

Still, nobody but Coral knew what had happened to Margarita after Tissaia wrecked all they had ever known and her curiosity must have shown somehow because, without her asking, the blonde lowered her shields, showing her.

‐

_A child covered in soot and sweat, searching through the ruins for Tissaia, the only person she had left after her mother had passed when she was but a toddler. Unable to feel anything at all when instead she found the Countess, half her body pinned down, crushed, by a pillar (Like her daughter, the only other person that loved her)._

‐

_Locking herself in the other blonde’s room for a week and dressing in her clothes in a pitiful attempt to find some comfort, to try to ignore all the while that the moment the servants fled the manor this was no longer a safe place for an unwed and unspoiled maid._

‐

_Coming to the realization that she had no option but to venture into Prana to try to find work. The Marquess and the Count had always treated her like a servant and she knew she could be a damn good one for a family that offered shelter and sustenance in exchange._

‐

_The journey wasn’t as long as she had expected, mercifully, and soon she found a merchant with ambitions too great for his actual aptitude._

_The job and the routine gave her a semblance of normalcy for almost a year._ _But of bloody course after three days in she learned he was a drunk, a violent one at that too._

_It seemed this was her lot in life, so she steeled herself and turned an experienced, blind eye to it._

‐

_Regretfully, the day came that she could no longer do so._

_He had his wife clutched by the collar, his calloused hands beating her to death like a crazed animal. Rita tried to have him let go of her, but the man was much stronger than the blonde, much taller, for even at the tender age of fourteen she was smaller than his daughters, who were two years younger._

_After unsuccessfully trying to hit him with a frying pan in the head, she was thrown away, stumbling and crashing against a cupboard, plates falling off on either side of her. Sliding down to the floor she closed her eyes, reminded of how her inability to help in any meaningful way the reason she had lost her sister in the first place._

_Heartbroken she pleaded like she hadn’t done since her father had locked her up in the attic for a month after separating Tissaia and her for having a picnic at the beach. But it wouldn’t stop. He didn’t pay her any mind (neither did, had) and now she wailed, screamed as she hadn’t done back then._

_Rita fervently wished she could will it away, imagine his arms exploding and then his head. And it did._

‐

_The Rectoress got to her before the fire of the stake charred more than just her feet._

‐

_Not speaking nor moving whilst her body was recovering from all of the abuse. Uncompliant, even if it meant that bitch starved her out of spite. Uncompliant, uncompliant- problematic._

‐

_Dragged by the hair to the classroom where the ghost of who she had loved awaited her. The two running towards the other and crying and sobbing when they finally hugged._

_Rita had had Tissaia back for a moment and then she lost her all over again for a little more than four hundred years._

‐

Yennefer left her eyes closed and swallowed as she tried, ineffectively, to compose herself, “Tissaia- You should tell her.”

“No. She’d blame herself for it. Gods know there’s already too much on her shoulders, any more and the stick in her arse will pierce a lung.” Whereas it had been an attempt at humour, Rita only found herself grabbing her apple juice with a white-knuckled grip.

A cynical laugh left the violet-eyed woman, who bit down on her lip lightly, “And you say you hate her…” Yennefer exhaled, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “Every time I hurt her, it felt good, _so_ good. I was high on the knowledge that I had enough power over the mighty Arch-mistress and-all-of-her-fucking-titles De Vries to do it. And then… Then I just felt empty.”

This conversation took her back to the night when another De Vries sorceress had coaxed the truth out of her with too-expressive eyes and a selflessness that almost got her killed, “It made me sick for weeks afterwards.”

She turned her violet orbs to her partner, her lover, her soulmate, who was at the other side of the room. Tissaia discreetly huffing in exasperation as Sabrina and Phillipa communicated in coy smiles and daring touches with another sorcerer. They had yet to run out of victims, it seemed, “Loving her, though, even if I sometimes harm her still… it’s right, it makes the world seem better, kinder.”

“It feels like hope.” Downing the last contents of her glass, Yennefer’s hand hugged her gut for a split second before Rita took it into her own, retracing the patterns she donned unto her unmarked flesh, “Like the world has so much left to give I’ll never know the half of it.”

“I remember that, from when we were children. Gossiping under the bedsheets at night after I snuck into her room.” Barefoot as she padded all the way to her chambers, where Tissaia was waiting for Margarita to deliver all the latest gossip from the kitchens and whatever treats her Aunt had hidden in the cabinet no one used.

Remembering those days still hurt, half a millennia later, “Do you think I can get her back?” They had been close, closer than sisters, once, until the day Destiny saw it fit to take half of her heart away and never give it back.

“You’ve always had her.” Yennefer responded to the good-natured impatience in Rita’s features with a quick quirk of her blood-red lips, “In parts, admittedly.” She added, squeezing the palm that held hers gently, reassuring her that while she could never really understand, she was willing to try, for the woman she loved and for the one that shared her same blood, her same inherent goodness. Who would’ve thought Rita would grow on her?

“Still, you have to understand she can never again be who you used to know so completely but then again, you aren’t the same either. And all that made you two, well, _you_ , that they were never able to take away. Neither of them.” The lights of the swirling artefacts above them cast a myriad of lights on her ivory flesh and mixing them with the blue of her eyes and her eye makeup, it was like looking through a kaleidoscope. Yennefer extended her hand, motioning to the others in the room, “All of them.”

Rita was going to thank her when she hear a distinct clacking of heels against the marble. Dusting herself off she patted the younger mage’s forearm, winking and murmuring to Yennefer, “I wish you tons of fun, darling.” She made to leave, gliding into the crowded space where Vilgefortz’s continued scene was.

Tilting her head slightly upon arrival, Tissaia’s eyes dashed for the exit and she strode there without needing to look back to confirm her partner was catching up with her, soon to be by her side, where the mage belonged.

Taking her through the main part of the castle to abandoned corridors that Yennefer had never noticed where there, the Rectoress finally interlaced their fingers, far enough from the party and the strays to be caught. She knew she wasn’t the Arch-mistress’ dirty secret but the fuss of it would distract everyone, anger Stregobor beyond reason and it couldn’t be afforded at the moment. Not when the Council needed every available mage, except for those bonded with the castle, to craft knickknacks to be triggered in the event that one was mortally wounded, so they could portal away to be tended to with Nenneke.

So, they navigated the dark spaces, which all looked forgotten, with layers of dust and the occasional spiderweb littered here and there. Climbing an obscene amount of stairs and turning in the oddest of moments for the longest while until the ache on her feet was enough to start bothering her and the chill started seeping through her barely-there dress to her olive skin.

But it proved to be worth it when they arrived to what must’ve been an alcove meant for astronomers, the roof all made of glass. The two settled in the balcony, stargazing. Tissaia’s head resting on her shoulder, humming in contentment, her body heat warming Yennefer.

It was too peaceful a moment to break the silence, still, she did, her blue eyes shining with love, with a kind of joy she thought she’d never be able to replicate, despite the obscurity that loomed over all of them, “Marry me.”

Tears welled up on violet eyes and Tissaia’s brow furrowed, her nails digging into her palms and about to flee the room she was swept off her feet, twirled around by an over-excited Yennefer who just parroted _“Yes.”_ Over and over again, her voice hoarse with emotion until it wasn’t just the wine getting to their heads.

She was put down and the Arch-mistress felt herself weeping too, so she laced her arms around Yennefer’s neck, standing on her toes regardless of her heels, kissing her for all she was worth. Her lips starting to bruise, she whispered and pecked her lips again, “I love you.” Once, “I love you.” Twice, _“I love you.”_ Thrice.

“When the world doesn’t need us as direly anymore, I will bind my life to yours in the only way that remains.” The sorceress vowed, cleaning up the tear tracks in her pale face with a reverent touch, “I did always think Yennefer De Vries sounded _exquisite._ Henselt agrees with me, that much I know. _”_

Despite the biting cold the apples of her cheeks flushed, “I think so too.” Looking up at her fiancée for permission, which was granted with a small nod, Tissaia took what had been her aunt’s ring, a thin silver band of white gold that supported five-carat, round cut diamond with two full-bodied unicorns of rose gold on each side of the stone and slipped it in her ring finger.

Then she took the Marquess’ ring, another band of white gold with a sapphire of the same size and cut on top, as with the other ring at either side of the stone was a cat, though only their faces surrounded the gem, with sapphires for eyes too. The brunette pushed it into her partner’s hands, who repeated the same ritual as before, “I think I was always yours, from the moment you hopped down, oh so gracefully from that cart.”

“The first words you ever spoke to me were that I couldn’t take you.” Resting her forehead against hers, Tissaia hummed, “Now that I think about it I might have taken it as a challenge.”

Yennefer laughed, beaming brighter than any of the stars in the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Writing clothing made me want to throw myself from the Miled building, but I just had to try my hand at it.
> 
> Mind you, the Epilogue is very much important to this story, so with that said two chapters to go and almost a year of my life...... wow.


	26. XXVI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I.... actually...... fucking..... DID IT? I ACTUALLY FUCKING DID IT!

_XXVI._

In the end, few things matter little and many want for the spotlight, because how different, how colourful life could have been if you had done this, instead of that, but perhaps still then it wouldn’t have even mattered. The Gods already know the path, have caged you into walking it. Too fond of their planning board, They are, the one they fancy as Destiny.

Ripples start small, then they become so large you can’t see where they reach. Silly girls with too big dreams, proud boys with bloody fists, women and men that grew up with regret and longing carved in muscle and bone.

In the end, ghosts are all that remains, they litter the earth, dance mirthfully in bare feet when the moon is high on the sky, content to never leave whilst the living burrow further into whatever kind of warmth they can find. Perhaps, after all is said and done the cold can grow to be as comforting as it is unavoidable, if we let it.

Dead and free and no longer blind. Laughing at those still on borrowed time, those trying to leave something meaningful behind so the pain may have been for something, something as great that people one day may call it folklore. Tales passed down like the prayers that rarely serve their cause. Smoke signals time will blow away, despite their grandness.

In the end, they never tell you that in battle the hardest part is the waiting; those moments when you can hear nothing, fingers twitching, moods escalating. It is not part of human nature to stay where harm is a given when it can be helped. It is part of human nature to do extraordinary things when one has purpose.

╌

Early tales of sirens depicted them as beautiful creatures and so they were when they ventured inland but in their natural habitat, they cut a striking figure for all the wrong reasons. Ryn’s scales were the colour of seaweed, as was the rest of her, a row of spikes outlining her spine, another two lines on either side of her tail, a massive stinger between her fins, bony fingers that ended in deadly claws and eyes that sightly surpassed the cool blue of Tissaia’s own, long hair as dark as coal.

She was prostrated on a rock, the waves washing over her constantly, the Queen was smiling, her mouth full of sharp teeth, as they discussed the final details of their treaty.

_“So, we ought to know the difference between allies and enemies on their chaos signature alone and those silly costumes you drape yourselves in.”_

_“Yes, their uniform dons the sun.”_

_“To think I tried to drown you once and now you’re to give my clans the feast of a lifetime. Very well then, now move along.”_

Tissaia pursed her lips, walking backwards into the sand, letting the creature drag herself where the sea couldn’t reach her anymore, beginning the painful process of her transformation. She trashed, clawing at the dirt from lack of oxygen, her veins throbbing in her face, her spines embedding themselves on her before disappearing. Ryn cried out and screamed as her bones broke and her body rearranged, although the monarch was used to it by now, considering the number of times the Arch-mistress had smuggled her in over the centuries.

Panting and heaving with newly acquired lungs, the lower part of her tail crumbled into dust as she finally rose on strong legs. With a wave of her hand, she copied the design of the brunette’s clothing, using a softer fabric for the garments because of the dryness the salt gave her skin.

When the mermaid was done she looked up at the Rectoress, coming to stand beside her, her hand resting on the other’s collarbone, her head bowed down though she reigned the entirety of the sea. It was an expression of deep affection and respect in her language, awed, her eyes pricking with emotion, the Rectoress returned the gesture.

Letting go, the eyed each other, getting reacquainted. Ryn appeared to be in her late teens despite being older than Stregobor, her human features just as sharp as the Marchioness’ and even so, in her eyes there was a wisdom the brunette couldn’t yet match. Standing at the same height she was ten times stronger, faster than any man or witcher, the genius of her race one they would never know, her senses slightly better than a vampire’s, her connection to chaos deeper than a mage’s, being born from it. The apex predator of the Continent.

She opened her mouth to speak, her voice rough and her throat hoarse from disuse, “We’ve all felt it, this… _corruption_ and it is our duty to stop its spread as much as it is yours.” Ryn held her head high, every line of her regal.

Faces started rising from the waterline, following behind them, too many bodies determined to sustain the same process, “The stars have decided and we are but their humble servants.”

_╶_

The weeping angels following her around was not how Rita had assumed her overseeing her given tasks would go, alas, she couldn’t complain since they kept Philippa in check. It was a damn fucking shame that said assignments was placing bombs for when the lunar eclipse finally arrived, she was not fond of explosions.

“Bonded with the castle, huh? How’s that feel? Does It talk?” The spymaster queried, the stone sucking in the glass bottle with the blue crystals inside of it, hiding their existence. A marble being repeated the same action on a much higher place of the wall, another two carrying the baskets they were taking the incendiaries from.

Sighing, her tattooed hand went to her hair, letting out an irritated noise when she couldn’t run her fingers through her locks, which were tied in a high ponytail, “No, it… it send impressions, it told us where these babies go, for example.” She said, petting the wall. Two immense portals would open in different parts of the castle, the most problematic location being Tor Lara, where the rest of her entourage was already waiting.

“What, do you reckon, have your friends here kidnapped Vilgefortz for?” They had dragged him out of the Chapter meeting in the morning and Sabrina had actually cheered, the five of them having been on the other side of the door eavesdropping. It had added another century to everyone’s lifespan but they did not understand the situation then and certainly not now, however, no one had given it much thought, too busy.

Now that she did, she was thankful her friends had been swift enough that nobody who wasn’t yet supposed to see, saw, “A ritual would be my best guess, I suppose they intend to secure the tower that way.” She crinkled her nose, biting her lower lip. The promise of blood magic being used tonight was unspoken, still, it was a vow that would hold.

Even so, her theory did not satisfy Philippa in the slightest, she could tell, for the mage launched a bottle like a missile and one of the angels caught it mid-air, placing it where it was supposed to go, “Then why are we blowing up the rest?” The shapeshifter could admit to herself that she was as much of a control freak as her former mentor, “Why are the stone knights doing nothing?” There was a reason she was so good at what she did. Sorceresses were raised to turn their faults into armaments, after all, “Why are we not securing the catacombs considering this mad bitch can raise the dead?”  
  
Cursing in her mother tongue for a few minutes until she calmed down, Rita considered the option of having the much younger sorceress forcefully removed from her presence before reminding herself that if she had ever come close to feeling truly understood by someone, it was by this amber-eyed arsehole. Exhaling loudly, she hissed, “Look, I don’t make the rules, I just follow them when I have to and right now the only one is; _‘Shut up and don’t ask.’_ ”

Stating to harass Margarita’s charges, who now vehemently denied giving her anything, fearing she might pull another one of her stunts, she jumped on the back on an unsuspecting one after feigning her surrender, “Bloody waste of insight.” Phillipa breathed, struggling to get the upper hand and laughing maniacally before turning into an owl, seconds away from hitting the ground on her back, perching on the blonde’s shoulder.

“What was that?” Hands on her hips, eyes narrowed and glaring like there was no tomorrow, which actually might be the case, Rita came to the conclusion that her cousin was to be awarded something for not murdering any of the girls that she had had under her tutelage.

The Gods-forsaken owl _‘hooted_ ’ something which in animal must’ve meant; _‘You heard me, you twat.’_ Giving up and sitting down on the floor, she took the bundle into her hands, laying it gently into her lap, “Alright, fine, you horrible bitch.” Rita closed her eyes, expanding her energy, “If I end up in the infirmary for your bullshit you’re the one explaining why I can’t fight to Tissaia.”

Another _'hoot’_ sounded; _‘I’m so glad we understand each other.’_ And then her throat started closing as she let forth the strength of Aretuza, its’ presence and eyes ancient. Asking the same questions in the humblest manner she could, feeling small, “I can’t see shit.” Alright, so what Vilgefortz was for was a lost cause.

She moved on, searching for the stone knights. The soldiers had been separated into two groups before they came back, many of which had been moved to the grounds surrounding the school, “They can only come alive in direct answer to their master-” The island wasn’t big but neither was it small enough to not provide terrain that the enemy forces could make out a thousand devastating attacks from, “Bloody Artaud should get his head out his arse because Nilfgaard will be here in hours and those things take time to soak up chaos.”

Lastly, where the ones that came before had been laid to rest, going back to Sir Ian, “They’ve to be recently deceased, thank the Gods.” Philippa was getting off her, careful not to shred her trousers or open skin with her talons, “Now I have a mighty migraine splitting my skull, are you happy?”

Back to human, she murmured a privacy spell, “Stregobor is up to something.” Taking off a charm from her pocket the image of him appeared, he was brewing something in the vault, differently coloured fumes surrounding him. The raven-haired sorceress rolled her eyes and gave a flimsy explanation before her companion dragged her before their friends, demanding information she wouldn’t give to anyone else, “Tissaia made it and tasked me with watching him, he’s been going more insane by the day since Princess Renfri.”

Rubbing her eyes Rita longed for her flask, “When isn’t he plotting something wretched?” Of fucking course, the Rectoress was ten steps ahead of everyone, keeping her secrets closeted even now.

“I mean it.” Chided Phillipa, pointing at the necklace he was submerging in the substance, his left hand already bandaged.

“I know!” She snapped, “But what can we do about it?” Enlarging the picture, they both gasped when they recognized the design etched into the metal, “We… need… him.” Her mouth tasted the foulest it had ever done, “Okay, now I _am_ going to be sick.” Going dizzy with worry.

“Don’t die.” Monotoned Philippa, “I hate sober you, so rea-so-na- _ble._ ”

Rita looked at the weeping angels and felt her resolve cement, “You and me both, kid.” The testament that she had loved someone more than life itself.

_╶_

Stuck in a last-minute check that the weapons Artorious had bought were all enchanted, Triss fixed the ones that weren’t, careful not to touch them lest the poison on the rings on her fingers leaked to the wood or the metal her fellow sorcerers would use.

Fiddling with her quiver and the arrows inside it in the table across from the brunette, Sabrina shook her head and twisted her lips as she conjured more feathers to them, “So, nothing, that’s what you plan on telling us?” As always, only one member of the Chapter had enough intelligence about her to not send her charges in errands that should have been completed days before at crucial moments. It was no wonder Fringilla was his fucking niece.

To be frank, the healer was exasperated as her partner was bickering with Coral, who they already knew wouldn’t budge, instead of helping her out.

“Exactly.” Responded the medium, attaching the plumes to the smaller bolts for crossbows behind the two of them, it had been a while since she had been asked to fletch arrows and she was satisfied with the time it was taking her to finish her chores.

“And we can’t bribe you into it?” The blonde purred, looking into grey eyes through thick, pale lashes and gritting her teeth when her target remained unaffected by her charms. Triss who had witnessed the act and was not at all impressed with her, the small sighs escaping making her displeasure very clear.

The redhead darted her gaze between the two of them, duplicating the newly finished darts with a quick incantation, just in case, “No.” Going around the table she levitated her creations, sending them towards the objects placed adjacent to the stone.

About to protest, a familiar voice called to her, steel in her tone, “Sabrina, love, leave poor Coral alone and help me finish checking the inventory.” Clearing her throat, Triss tried to get back to working and not caring about the children she had been placed with.

Pointing with two fingers at her eyes and then at her rival’s and back, she warned, “It’s not over.”

“It’s not yet begun.” Coral cheekily replied, tapping her finger against her temple before chuckling at the levels of annoyance radiating from the taller mage. She was having a ball, nothing to lift the spirit up before a massacre like some good old-fashioned teasing.

Lifting her eyebrow, Sabrina retorted, “Insufferable.” She tapped her feet against the floor, careful to not make too much noise for it to be unladylike or overtly noticeable.

Cackling as she rarely allowed herself to, her hands went to hold her womb, “Another- hundred years- and your impression- of my sister- might- be- _passable._ ” She continued laughing unabashedly. Oh, Gods, Tissaia would’ve outraged and the grey-eyed sorceress could clearly imagine her face and that just made things so much funnier, really, Rita had been right about the comments she had made about the blonde and her ample bosom. Suddenly, she stopped. Ah, bollocks, another bet lost.

_╶_

Yennefer descended the stairs to the tower of the Gull with all the poise and grace she had been taught to carry herself with. Face illuminated by the eel pool upon entry, which was glimmering as it had done the night Tissaia had given her a chance to become the woman that she now was. Perhaps the moment she should’ve realised her admiration for the Rectoress might not just turn out to be a passing infatuation.

The marble beings hovered over the water, keenly watching Vilgefortz, who was gagged, his hands cuffed behind his back, courtesy of Phillipa, it would’ve made for a prettier picture if the smell of boiling skin wasn’t sickening. The mage held her chin high, reigning in her emotions, her fury making it hard to stay still.

Striving to not shift on her feet, her violet, heated gaze was fixated on the angels. She examined them with budding interest, no carvings, no adornments did they possess, just plain white all over, faces she doubted had actual features and as still like the best of sentries, “You really aren’t much company.”

Closing the space between her and the traitor she motioned to the cloth on his mouth, looking at his keepers for permission, “May I?” In their usual fashion, they said nothing, standing as still as the statues they had once been, according to her soon to be sister-in-law. There wasn’t a clear answer awaiting her but she wouldn’t be herself if she let that stop her from taking was she could, “Good.”

It was tied by the side, next to his ear, the knot too tight for her to be able to coax out without some effort, but in the end she did, letting it fall beside them, "Any last bullshit excuse whilst you still have breath in your lungs?"

His eyes were demented, his legs full of scratches from what she assumed had been his pitiful attempts of getting out when he woke up here, “There is no shame in siding with the winning side.” The side of his lips twitched, turning into a smirk, Vilgefortz carried on being proud and cocky, even after being a hunter turned prey.

“You see that’s where you’re wrong and if you had any cerebral matter you’d see it.” Standing up and extending her arms as she turned on herself, Yennefer grinned, licking her lips, “Air is your element and these lads here,” She waved to their audience, “Are the ones holding you hostage.”

He pressed his lips as he frowned, clenching his jaw, “You don’t feel it, do you? The castle? Our home? Well, not yours anymore.” Looking down, she shrugged, “We’ve known from the very start… Someone once tried to teach me power is knowledge and it is.”

“I don’t regret it.” Vilgefortz drawled venomously and Yennefer could see that he really didn’t, Fringilla was not yet defeated but he was, imminent death was his fate and he knew it and still, his eyes dared her to explain why he should’ve cared about the sorrow, about the destruction and the demons brought on by his master.

Crouching, as to stand eye to eye with him, the raven-haired woman growled, disgusted, “Fuck it.”

Standing up and righting her blouse, she made her hand into a fist, it came in contact with his nose, knuckles bruising as she heard the bone crack, blood leaking down from both of his nostrils, “This is for being a treacherous bastard.”

Then she grabbed his head, nails digging painfully in his scalp and Yennefer brought it down against her kneecap as savagely as she could, “This is for Ban Ard.”

Taking one of her daggers, she stabbed him with it bellow his belly button, slightly to the left, so it hurt but he wouldn’t bleed out. Leaving it inside him, she twisted the handle, her lips against his ear, “And this is for Tissaia.”

Breathing ragged, Yennefer spat on his face and left.

╌

Nilfgaard had finally arrived, their fleet of black going as far as the eye could see and on the most ornate one stood Fringilla, who had not underestimated the threat the Brotherhood and their allies posed to her, two thousand men awaiting her signal. Amongst them elves that had seen it fit to defy Filavandrel and sorcerers that had a very personal vendetta to carry out, the marks on their foreheads proof of it.

The Chapter, along with Yennefer and Rita, stood tall at the entrance of the castle. One by one, they started to give in to the power of Aretuza, witnessing with knotted stomachs and enhanced perception the overwhelming threat in front of them. They were outnumbered five to one even with the sirens on their side and that was without counting the surprises that would cross the portals, alas, it had been imperative to send a hundred of their own to secure the capitals.

Crowned in a silver tiara the brown-eyed mage oversaw the ongoing operations from the quarter-deck, feeling confident. Her warships all possessed a minimum of fifty cannons each, with cannonballs and chain shots next to them for when their pitiful attempt to slow her down inevitably failed.

Artaud, with a sharp jerk of his head, sent the stone knights stationed next to them marching towards the sand and over them, the clouds darkened, beads of water aggressively dropping from the sky. The tides rose accordingly, the mermaids that had remained grinning as they followed the waves.

Pupils shifting into a line in wicked anticipation, she raised her remaining arm, her hand extended. The elves loaded their trebuchets, then and her soldiers dragged out from cages the cuffed children, those who would set their munitions alight. The exiled mages who had converted to the White Flame assuming defensive stances.

Stregobor smashed with immense strength his staff against the floor and a blast of energy emerged from it, vicious wraiths with it, they went flying off and though it wasn’t possible yet to penetrate Nilfgaard’s most valued ships, screams sounded from the rest. Phantoms wailing in their faces and sucking out their life essence, troopers withering just as quickly as blooms.

Her palm closed into a fist and a dozen, blue fireballs, like the ones used in Sodden, went soaring towards Aretuza, all of them infused with dimetirium. They crashed against the wards, the sound of it deafening and the crystal bubble protecting them wavered, magic born of willing sacrifice colliding with that which was made of suffering and loss.

Rita snapped her fingers and mist spread from her body outwards. The weeping angels flapped their wings, fully extending them and sending it towards the warships, blocking their view of the school and that of each other as Artorious collapsed the structure of the crafts he could.

Raising the dead wasn’t as hard as it once had been and honestly, it was fine by her if they skipped through the whole mess of having her assemblage die in batches. The individuals who she needed to keep unharmed were posted close to her, so her elite forces, her priority, those cretins couldn’t touch until she saw it fit.

Tissaia’s hand filled with electricity but the rest of them stopped her. Artaud looked at the Rectoress and Yennefer, his voice cutting through the noise around them, he declared, “Reserve your chaos.”

Above them, flecks of something that could pass as glass started descending like snow, “You two are our last hope.” Dusting off his arms off of it, he continued, “I’ll be damned but you are.”

Three hours Stregobor had bought them. Three hours until the eclipse was upon them and perhaps only one until the wards gave out, from the looks of it.

_╶_

The first thing to go was the stone knights, crumbling into pieces after bringing down almost a third of Fringilla’s reanimated fleet. Nilfgaard had breached the castle just but a moment later. And the second the fight had moved indoors everything had turned into bloody bedlam.

Empress Vigo had seen it fit to deprive her Empire of their most dreaded monsters and release them on Aretuza when their first lines of defence were out of the way and suffice to say that since they weren’t witchers nor had any with them, the sirens had been deployed to take care of their extremely big problems.

Seeing that opening for what it was the Brotherhood was forced to take cover as smoke bombs filled with dimetirium were tossed in all directions, _‘Bullatum’_ spells being summoned in high-pitched, panicked voices. Unfortunately, several of them hadn’t been fast enough, overdosing on the venom, asphyxiating and coughing up bile.

Tissaia and Yennefer had been unable to keep it together, watching the scene going on around them, knowing there was nothing to do for the infected. They had barely been restrained by their friends from losing control, having to be forcibly dragged away to the great hall to not get the rest of the Chapter’s attention.

Sorcerers surged for mages and elves after that, some hacking them apart with bare hands, rage turning them into bloodthirsty, feral things. Limbs and blood scattered on the floor; their beloved school looked no better than the most downtrodden butcher shop in all of the Continent. A hurting animal was a most dangerous opponent.

Currently, Phillipa was drenched in sweat, satisfied that her little heist in the forgotten temple had done her good, the axe she wielded was weightless and very, _very_ sharp, signs carved in the expanse of the blade, the wood under her fingers glowing with the power she was channelling.

She was back-to-back with Ryn, with the Queen she stood as another wave of the dearly departed charged for them. Pushing Her Royal Majesty out of the way of being cleaved in the gut with a sword she dodged a particularly insistent moron and lashing out she cut the bastard in pieces, stomping on his skull with her heel as another one darted for her legs, nearly slicing her calf, “Fucking hell, I’m getting old.”

“Whiny human.” Hissed the mermaid, leaping from where she was and doing a forward roll, beheading two soldiers as she was in the air, one head on each hand and from behind a burly man she smashed them against his own, turning it into nothing but a bloody pulp, the body collapsing to the floor.

“Overachieving, overgrown sardines!” Philippa grumbled as she ignited an elf that was diving her way on fire, raising her weapon over her head she cut his misery short, nicking him in half. She was willing the weapons he had been wielding to answer to her when the moon vanished and debris flew everywhere, decapitating and crushing the ones in direct line of the courtyard.

Distracted, she didn’t see that from the portal in front of them one the Bruxas that hadn’t perished was running, on her way towards the great hall where the Chapter and her friends were, it sunk her claws into her face as the amber-eyed woman was on its’ way, long nails lacerating her eyes into ribbons. The spymaster cried out, falling on her knees to the ground. Lovely, just lovely, she was so fucking dead.

She felt a hand on her chin and with the last of her strength tried to bite whoever it was but her teeth didn’t pierce flesh, the epidermis too thick for that, “Safe haven of Melitele, now. Eat this.” Recognizing the voice to belong to Ryn, Phillipa swallowed something the size of a sweet, too weak to do anything but comply.

Cannonballs started flying everywhere and darkness sought to claim her and the mage became aware that she had been drugged, yet before she passed out she triggered her artefact, uncaring that she was taking another shapeshifter, a Queen, with her, _“Seleil Eip.”_ And so, they were gone with a _‘pop’_.

_╶_

If monsters and elves and undead beings and mages hadn’t been enough to completely beset them, it was the fucking vampires that did it. They were a near match for the merfolk in strength and cunning, which made them as much of a nuisance as a menace. All the Chapter could do was buy them as many opportunities as their overtaxed bodies could manage and hope it would be enough.

Sorceress Laux-Antille had no idea why they yet hadn’t asked Tissaia and Yennefer to burst, she was getting angrier about it by the minute when she saw men moving and made a choice she knew would cost her everything- Her mouth formed a perfect _‘O’_ as her organs burst, blood leaking from her mouth. For the life of her, Rita couldn’t remember an instance on which she’d felt as much pain and Gods she’d delved into that quite a bit. Then again three fucking spears piercing her gut was not one of her kinks.

The raven-haired woman knew, by the gash that formed into the castle’s energy what had happened and her body turned on its own; she couldn’t let her fall, no matter how many times she wanted to throw her through their window, she just couldn’t, “You saved me.” Easing her down to the floor in the most caring manner the violet-eyed mage could, keeping moonlight locks of hair out of her face.

“I won’t ever forget that.” She laughed, chocking on the crimson liquid permeating her lips, what a bloody stupid sense of humour Destiny had, Margarita Laux-Antille, a mage with a bounty on her head in every kingdom except the one she belonged to would die a _hero._ Saving Yennefer’s arse and thus the whole world’s, no less. Her cousin did urge her to be more _sensible_ , didn’t she?

Her sword hit the floor, as Tissaia ran through the other end of the great hall to her, pushing and burning with electricity all that dare step in her way, foes and friends alike. Taking her from the violet-eyed mage and shaking her with all her might as the life was leaving her eyes, “Margarita! Gods-fucking-damn-it!”

Rita groaned as regret flooded her brain, Gods, she’d die without having taken Coral to the altar, no, to bed. Wait, what?

 _“Margarita!”_ Tissaia held the body of her cousin against her own, rocking them both back and forth. The Rectoress just needed a few moments to think about how to fix this, just a few moments. She stared into the same eyes she saw every day in the mirror as they closed, her own overcome with tears, sobs forming on the back of her throat, _“RITA! I BEG OF YOU! RITA!”_

Even though she couldn’t hear properly through the buzzing in her ears the blonde knew that death was supposed to be fast, so why was it taking so long? She hadn’t even sinned that much! Or maybe she had… Her memories were all hiding from her.

Whilst the Arch-mistress and Yennefer were trying to bring her back life Triss and Sabrina moved to cover their backs, as attacks were still being directed their way. Throwing hexes back and forth with renewed vigour.

Coral stood still next to the two of them, her eyes for the first time in her life fully focused, fully present in the moment, the many voices that inhabited her mind silent, for once, too. The mage wanted to vomit, to join the brunette in her mindless wailing but instead, she stood still, letting the events unfold as she had seen them do in her worst vision.

They were losing, the sheer numbers of what remained of Fringilla’s armies were still too many because of the ones that had managed to cross the portal and that was having Tor Lara’s neutralized by the angels using Vilgefortz as a human sacrifice. Without any of the three sorceresses who were bonded with the castle to aid them their reserves of magic were starting to fail them, too.

Stregobor turned to them, to where they were all being cornered, his eyes gleaming, standing out in the shadows that cloaked him, crowned him. He took a replica of the Rectoress’ necklace, only the stone in the middle was replaced by a glass vial of his blood.

Sabrina was the first to spot the reason he had yet to go on the offensive, “You piece of shit!”

“What she said!” Shouted the brunette as the two desperately tried to keep the cadavers at bay.

From the floor, he took the sword he had seen the Rectoress so masterfully wield. The brunette had pushed him away for too long, surrounded by her friends and her pets she had never paused to acknowledge him and like an old fool, he’d allowed it for too long. Murder was a sacrifice he’d gladly make for her.

After all, there was a reason he’d fallen madly in love with her the first time he’d set his eyes on her petite form, a child of fifteen and who’d he’d waited half a millennium for. The guiding light of his shadow kingdom. The Arch-mistress had been born to be his and his alone.

When news came back from Redania he knew someone needed to take initiative, they could fight the living and win, even if their losses would still be significant, dead soldiers, well those were too challenging without meeting Nilfgaard without protection. It had been too easy, laughably so. No one had cared that a member of the Chapter had spent so much of his time in the vault.

And who was he to deny Destiny its’ whims? What was Destiny to deny him his own?

He tested the balance of the blade in his hands. It was perfect. More than good enough to slay that violet-eyed menace in two whilst his soon to be bride grieved the loss of her good-for-nothing cousin, both too distracted with bringing about the impossible to stop him.

Stregobor angled the blade to where he remembered the girl having the hunchback and about to thrust it into her the windows behind him shattered; glass flying everywhere, inviting for more mayhem.

The lingering mermaids and mermen continued to move deftly, dispatching who they could, despite what had just happened some continuing daring to try and get him- Stopping dead in their tracks as the weeping angels entered, formed as though in procession, golden tears rolling down their cheeks and unto the stone as Tissaia and Yennefer came out of their high and back to the war they had so insisted on fighting.

The statues gathered the corpse of Margarita in their arms and no person that was present could remember seeing their esteemed Rectoress weep, but what followed was more shocking than even that.

What or rather who appeared to be the leader pulled the three spears that had ended the blonde’s life, the marble from its palms bleeding into the weapons, transfiguring them into a single one. Another replica, this time of the sword he was going to kill Yennefer with.

Lifting its' veil, a thousand different faces stared at Stregobor, none of which he had forgotten, settling last on Princess Renfri’s, _“When I cut my finger, I bleed. That’s human, right? When I overeat, my stomach aches. When I’m happy, I laugh. When I’m upset, I swear. And when I hate someone, for stealing my whole life from me, I kill him.”_

Every angel lifted their veils to reveal faces of women and men he had seen before, each more haunting than the last and he knew who they were without having to ask- The people who opposed him most fervently and had been too much of a threat for his continued existence, _“When we hate someone for stealing our whole lives from us, we kill him.”_

In his defence anyone would have done the same when confronted with primaeval and murderous entities that held amongst them the corpse of an insane mage as if she had been their kin; He made a run for it.

Even so, Stregobor was promptly grabbed by his feet, only making it halfway to the door, dragged to where a semicircle of the weeping angels were waiting for him, veils back down. Their leader raised the blade, scanning the room, gaze softening when they spotted Coral, nodding to her, _“Sometimes the best thing a flower can do for us is die.”_

The Arch-master screamed. An explosion of light leaving them temporarily blind, the winds so strong it knocked them back when the blade pierced his heart.

Running to the blonde with different levels of desperation, they noticed that her chest rose and fell gently. The medallion that the old man had made transformed into something else entirely, glowing lightly.

Carefully cradling her head in her knees, the redhead saw that Rita’s eyelids began to flutter and caressed her cheek lovingly as Tissaia inspected her, “Wake up.” The mage did, sitting on her own and stretching like she had just been napping and not coaxing a cardiac arrest out of them. Not wasting a moment, a portal opened, leading to Nenneke.

The second thing to go was the weeping angels. And the only remaining one that hadn’t blended back into the castle held necklace that had adorned Margarita’s neck was on its hand. Handing it to the blue-eyed woman it pointed to the sky, where the eclipse was about to end, “Skylark, let _go.”_ It said in her mother’s voice and then it disappeared.

Tissaia grabbed Yennefer in a bruising kiss, resting her forehead against hers, eyes closed, completely draining the waters that quieted the bond,

‐

_“Every road I’ve ever taken has led me back to you.”_

‐

Before placing the chain around her neck and taking advantage of the maelstrom that still raged on, lighting hitting the Arch-mistress repeatedly as her eyes rolled all the way into the back of her head,

‐

_“We deserve a happy ending, my dear. Even if it’s selfish.”_

‐

Her body shaking as she spoke in rapid Elder, lost to feeling.

Her partner’s body outlined by a blue aura, transferring the fire that made the thunder into her, eyes the colour of blood,

‐

_“IT WAS A DJINN!”_

‐

Yennefer’s body ached all over as she turned her distortion into an unparalleled weapon, the lifeblood of all the Nilfgaardians now answering to her.

Tasking them with turning against each other and the abominations that had taken so much joy in terrorizing them, 

‐

_“No matter how complex our past is, I do believe we would have found our way back to each other, one day.”_

‐

Fringilla’s mistake was not undermining their magic capabilities, it was disregarding that already her armies had once been defeated by two women who weren’t willing to lose one another.

Her mistake was thinking that she could threaten all they held dear once again and come out of it unscathed because she thought love was of no use when it came to power,

‐

_“Why Tiss, if only Rita could see you right now.”_

‐

No matter, they would make sure the world never forgot again that although tamed beasts, with clipped claws they chose to be, that didn’t mean they couldn’t simply let them grow back,

‐

_“I think you will find- There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”_

‐

Sodden Hill and the anger and dread felt on that day because their dreams were so very far away was nothing compared to what it felt to finally have them,

‐

_“Let the rest of her be you.”_

‐

Sodden Hill and the desperation to hold on to the flicker of hope they found in the other when surrender seemed like the most logical choice was nothing compared to tasting the sweetness of living after ages of merely surviving,

‐

_“Please.”_

‐

Sodden Hill was nothing but ashes and Tissaia de Vries and Yennefer of Vengerberg were its’ Ember Queens.

The third and last thing to go was the world, it imploded, turned on its’ axis and put itself back together again.

╌

Yennefer’s head was killing her and Tissaia’s mouth tasted like she had eaten something her cousin had cooked whilst intoxicated with only-Gods-knew what. They were in a makeshift double bed, in an unfamiliar space, that much the Rectoress could tell as cups of water were pushed into their hands by Triss and Sabrina, “What happened?”

“Oh.” The blonde eyed the Arch-mistress and conjuring up a brush, the mage started working with the bottom part of her locks, “You guys’ went all wronged demigods again and scared the shit out of everyone- Sorry, saved the day. You know, the usual.” Trying to figure out how in fuck’s sake the brunette managed to give classes at dawn and have her endless amount of hair fastened into a fancy chignon before then because she sure as hell was barely managing to get the tangles out.

The brown-eyed sorceress braided her sister’s hair with care, passing her a wet rag to clean her face with, “Where’s-” Humming one of the bard’s songs, a new one, for she knew the sorceress would secretly enjoy because it was made exactly for her and her lover, even if the mere mention of Jaskier's name got on her nerves.

“Rita’s fine, helping out if you can believe it. Coral as well.” Sabrina answered, tongue out, brow furrowed in concentration, she tried to figure out how to replicate one of her intricate buns, whilst her mentor looked at her like she’d gone mad.

Talk of the Devil and she shall appear, garbed in a dress more revealing than she had ever sported Margarita pecked her cousin on the crown of her head, patting Yennefer on the shoulder before summoning a chair from a poor fellow that landed on his arse as the redhead came in with their breakfast on a tray, “Phillipa-”

Grabbing at the walls to find purchase said woman entered after Coral, with a band made out of a scarf tied around her head, “Is blind, not deaf. Thanks for the pill, by the way.” She announced, cheeks flushing, “Ryn literally threw herself from a cliff into a river leading to the ocean some hours after we got here or so I was told; I think the Sisters came on too hard on Her Majesty. Whatever.”

Moving the fruits around with her fork, the Rectoress opened her mouth, “The-” Pouting and then pursing her lips, glaring at Sabrina who had the gall to start laughing, because of course in the time they had been asleep manners had become a thing of the past. Tissaia huffed indignantly.

Coral started picking at her velvet gloves with a twinkle in her eyes, “Stregobor’s dead, thank the Gods but that you already knew.” Astrid Neyd felt vindicated, all the things she had done were indeed for a higher purpose and that person was currently checking the perimeter to see if it was safe for her to smoke, “Vilgefortz body was never found. Artaud’s funeral is in a week. Artorious is in talks with the Kings. The Brotherhood has _never_ loved the Chapter as they do now.”

Moving the chair closer to the bed and taking a drag Rita grabbed Tissaia’s hand and put it in her throat so she could feel how to contract her tendons to make figures, letting out a simple circle and winking at the dumbfounded brunette, “Foltest is a goner.”

“That too.” Confirmed the medium, rubbing her eyes and waiting for the visions to go away. Gods willing the child he had left behind wouldn’t need to be held hands by her sorceress her whole reign, which would be long.

Yennefer just duplicated the number of pancakes on her plate with magic once more and nodded. Tissaia pinched her nose, “Aretuza-” Now she was about to murder someone- Violet eyes were on her, a silly grin on her face. The Arch-mistress took deep breaths.

“Already being rebuilt.” Done, Sabrina clapped her hands, shifting their chemises for the gowns that Henselt had basically thrust into their arms, drunk off his arse with happiness and scotch. The trip to the mansion had been inevitable, someone had to tell the girls and the teachers the war had been won and the couple wouldn’t have made it if they knew Nenneke would be as loose-lipped.

“You two were out a whole week.” Gibed Phillipa, her features hardening immediately after, “…Fringilla was captured and poisoned with dimetirium, she’s rotting in a cell here.”

Standing up Tissaia pulled her cuffs down, so they were symmetrical, “I, for one, think politics can wait.” Everyone stood paralysed at the statement but Yennefer just got on her knees on the bed, placing a wet kiss on her soulmate’s cheek and smiling she whispered on Elder, the illusions on their rings disappearing.

“Oh, you fucking didn’t!” Shirked Rita, standing up and dropping her pipe, smoke coming out of her nostrils, pointing at her cousin’s face with an elegant finger.

Triss frowned before crossing her arms like a petulant child, her mouth opening and closing before she squeaked, “You are _not_ our daddy, let me be perfectly clear about that-”

“Triss, sweetheart, calm down.” Consoled Sabrina, hugging her lover, hiding her face in the crook of her neck, flashing the two a surprised look and rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

Phillipa tried to get into their heads but their barriers were well made and she still hadn’t the strength to search for weak spots to pry the information out, “What the fuck are you tossers talking about?!”

“Who fancies a game of Gwent?” Intervened Coral sheepishly, waving away the _‘Thank you.’_ The raven-haired woman mouthed at her with her left hand, the cards on her right one.

Slumping down on the chair and brooding, Rita acquiesced, “Whatever.”

“That’s my line, you old bag.” Phillipa told the wall and the room descended once again into controlled chaos.

Perhaps peace was real, but Tissaia and Yennefer wouldn’t know with the company they kept. Life was good, worthwhile, nonetheless. And they still had _so_ much left to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Let's do True sappy on the epilogue because I am knackered, but still, thank you everyone for your support and encouragement on this wee little fanfic. 
> 
> It's grown beyond anything I've ever done before and I will always, always, love and remember that kind, precious strangers made me realise I'm capable of this. 
> 
> I believe I did good on this, I believe I posted the best content I possibly could in each chapter and I feel like I did Anya's and MyAnna's acting and their character's a tiny bit of justice and I can finally say it without feeling like a moron. 
> 
> Thank you. Truly.


End file.
